


"Toronto"

by DPPatricks



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: BDSM required by plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post SR, Starsky is completely recovered and back at work when he and Hutch are asked by a task force of Interpol, RCMP, and FBI agents to attempt the most dangerous assignment of their careers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written a BDSM story before but several of Dawnebeth’s and Wightfaerie’s pieces have inspired and captivated me. I’m not into the scene myself so I’ve relied on fanfiction and the internet for my information, and terminology. I sincerely hope I haven’t offended anyone. Many, many thanks to WF for her extremely helpful beta.
> 
> A/N: This story has now been edited and re-written, in order to, in the best of all possible worlds, read better. I hope you'll think so if you give it a second chance. Thank you!
> 
> Please see the END NOTE (after the Epilog) for my explanation regarding the altered time line of this story.

“Starsky, Hutchinson!” Captain Dobey bellowed the words through his closed office door. “Get in here!”

Detective David Starsky felt a momentary flutter in his stomach. He raised his eyebrows toward his partner, Ken Hutchinson, across the desks, and received a mystified look in return. 

Starsky pushed away from his typewriter table and got up, almost relieved to take a break from the report he was re-writing. For the third time. Why did Dobey continually have this wild hair up his ass about typos and flowery speech? Oh well, thank the gods for a respite, whatever the reason.

Hutch followed him into the office, closing the door behind them. 

Two men Starsky had never seen before occupied the guest chairs in front of the desk. A third unknown man leaned against the bookcase behind the chairs. 

Dobey stood up. “Starsky, Hutch…” Dobey gestured to the two seated men who stood during Dobey’s next words. “These men are with international law enforcement. I’ll let them introduce themselves.”

Starsky’s hackles rose immediately because all three men were staring at his partner as if he were a specimen under a microscope. Instinctively, he took a step forward and stuck out his hand. “I’m Dave Starsky.”

The strangers ignored him; they stared at Hutch. “Jesus Christ, Marc!” The taller of the two men from the chairs glanced over his shoulder toward the man at the bookcase. “You were right.”

“In person, it’s uncanny,” said the man from the second chair.

“Told you.” The bookcase man smiled, smugly.

Starsky looked at his partner. “You know these clowns?”

Hutch shook his head. “Never saw them before.”

Starsky shifted his questioning stare to Dobey. “What’s goin’ on, Cap?”

The tall man broke his study of Hutch and turned toward him. “My apologies, Detective Starsky.” He extended his hand and Starsky shook it. “I’m Georg (he pronounced it ‘gay-org’) Holsten. This,” motioning to the man next to him, “is my colleague, Tomas (he pronounced this one ‘toh-maas’) Constantine. We’re from Interpol.” 

The second agent shook hands with Starsky, after which both shook with Hutch.

The third man stepped forward, holding out his hand. “My name’s Marc Pickering.” His wide mouth turned up in an ingratiating smile. “RCMP.”

“Do you guys still ride horses?” Hutch sounded genuinely curious.

“Sometimes.” Pickering’s smile turned a bit rueful. “But mostly these days, that’s only for parades.

“Are you three satisfied?” Dobey didn’t appear at all happy.

Holsten and the other two exchanged glances and nods. “Yes.” Holsten was apparently the spokesman. “Let’s talk.”

Dobey moved out from behind his desk, casting an unmistakably worried look at Hutch, and led the way out of his office’s hallway door, bypassing the squad room. 

Starsky and Hutch waited until the three strangers had followed Dobey before trailing along behind.

Dobey walked to the elevators, pushed the UP button and waited for the others to join him. 

Starsky brought up the rear. His defenses were still up; something was definitely fishy and it centered on his partner. Without a thought, he fell into full protective mode. If these guys figured to mess with Hutch, they were going to find themselves up against two dogs, not one.

When the elevator arrived, Dobey entered first, with everyone crowding in after him. “Where we goin’, Cap’n?” Starsky asked.

“Six, Starsky. We’re in the conference room for this.”

“You got it.” Starsky punched the appropriate button. He leaned against Hutch’s shoulder, telling his partner of his support and backup. Hutch returned the pressure.

Dobey led the way down the sixth floor corridor, opened a set of double doors and entered. By the time Starsky went in, the room was definitely crowded. In addition to their captain, Hutch, and the three men they’d just met, two more men and a woman were already there.

Starsky studied all these people he’d never seen before today. Holsten was the tallest of the six, an inch or two taller than Hutch. He was thin, with a gaunt face and watery blue eyes. Long light brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail. His gray suit didn’t fit him at all well and might have come from a thrift store. The shoes were scuffed. ‘No wife,’ Starsky thought, ‘or a wife that doesn’t care any more.’

Constantine fit Starsky’s notion of “European” in appearance, medium height, athletic build, well-dressed, refined, suave. His black hair was slicked back and curled over his collar. His eyes were very dark brown and recessed under lowering brows. The lips were thin and it didn’t look like he was fond of smiling. 

The third member of the trio from Dobey’s office, the Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman, was the most normal looking of the three. He was about six feet tall, slim but muscled for working strength, not weight lifting. His sport coat and slacks were probably off a Mens’ Warehouse rack but fit him well. His brown hair, brown eyes and brown mustache made for a pleasant face with plenty of laugh lines. Starsky liked him instinctively.

The three new members of the group fit anyone’s preconceived notion of cop-in-a-suit. They introduced themselves as Joyce Miller-Cummings, DEA, Jerold Swanson, and Arnold Swisher, FBI. All three were cookie cutter Feds, medium height, medium weight, brown and brown, black coats, trousers, ties and shoes, white shirts. Indistinguishable from half a million other federal law enforcement clones.

“That’s most of the alphabet,” Starsky chortled, when he’d finished shaking hands. He grinned at his partner. “Who’s missin’, Hutch?”

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe the CIA? NSA?… IBM? NASA?”

“Can it, you two!” Definitely not in the mood for sarcasm, Dobey sat down heavily. “These people have some pictures to show you, Hutchinson.”

Starsky and Hutch were still standing but everyone else in the room had taken seats around the table. Files, folders and stacks of photographs covered most of the surface. Holsten and Constantine pulled out the two chairs between them and motioned Starsky and Hutch to take the seats. Starsky hesitated a moment before he sat. Hutch sat stiffly in the chair indicated for him as Holsten passed him a sheaf of 8x10 photos. Scooting his chair close, Starsky leaned over his partner’s arm. 

The top photo showed ‘Hutch’ strolling through a throng of people in what appeared to be a middle eastern market. He was dressed in a cream colored suit, white shirt and white scarf. His hair was long and hung silkily onto his shoulders. He wore aviator sunglasses. His appearance was so different from everyone else in the image - all of whom were dressed in loose trousers and shapeless shirts, or long, shabby skirts and head shawls - that the camera had seemed to focus on him. Vendor stalls displayed plucked bird carcasses, woven goods, leather purses, sandals, various types of fruit, and a myriad of other unusual products. It was quite obviously not a site in the U.S. of A.

The next image was centered again on ‘Hutch,’ this time walking along a tree-lined path next to a river. A metal railing kept pedestrians from falling into the water. Live-aboard barges lined the walled banks. Tour boats plied the channel. Paris came to mind but Starsky wasn’t sure why.

A third photo showed the same man standing on a corner at the intersection of two narrow streets. Brown brick multi-storied buildings made the area appear claustrophobic. A red double-decker bus was passing along the wider of the two streets in the background. ‘Hutch’ was talking with a trench-coated figure who held an opened umbrella over their heads. ‘Hutch’ didn’t appear to care that he wasn’t very well protected from the visibly pouring rain. He wore only a well-tailored dark suit and a black turtleneck sweater. The expression on his face was one of bemusement. 

Hutch didn’t look at any more of the pictures but passed them back to Holsten. “Not me.”

“No. We never thought it was.”

“We know exactly who it is,” Constantine said, in a flat, controlled voice.

“His name’s Christopher Cominetti.” This came from the female DEA agent.

“Of the Toronto Cominetti family,” Pickering added.

“Ah.” Hutch’s response was noncommittal. “The Canadian connection.”

“Just so,” said Pickering.

When no other comments were immediately forthcoming, Starsky looked at Dobey. “So I’ll ask again, what’s goin’ on, Cap?”

Dobey didn’t respond, he deferred to the senior Interpol agent.

Holsten slid a folder to Hutch. “Chris Cominetti is the nephew of Augustino Cominetti, head of the largest crime syndicate in Canada. Interpol has been working with the RCMP for years but, so far, we haven’t been able to get anyone deeply enough inside the working part of their organization to do any good.”

“Why have we never heard of these people?” Hutch asked.

Damn good question, Starsky realized, drilling a look at Holsten.

“They’ve always concentrated their operations in Eastern Canada, Europe, and the northeastern U.S. No reason to expect that you would have heard of them.”

Starsky wasn’t liking any of this. “What are they into?” 

“What _aren’t_ they into would be a better question.” Pickering’s detestation was audible in his voice. “They control drug- and people-trafficking in and out of their territories, gambling, prostitution, money laundering, corrupt politicians and every other nasty enterprise they can get their tentacles around. Their latest venture,” he added, with barely controlled revulsion, “is child pornography. Films and publications.”

“Sweet.” Starsky knew his partner was already poised to agree to the idea these guys were undoubtedly going to propose: that Hutch pass himself off as the nephew. “This guy…” Starsky pointed to the photos in front of Holsten, “doesn’t look the least bit Italian.” 

“Very astute of you, Detective,” said Constantine, with poorly disguised sarcasm.

“We believe we’ve figured out why that is, too.” Holsten passed Hutch another file. “Chris’ mother, Angela, spent four years at the University of Minnesota. When she went home to Toronto after graduation, she was four weeks pregnant. She never told anyone who the father was and that’s why Chris has his mother’s last name.”

“You’re from Duluth, aren’t you, Detective Hutchinson?” Constantine’s question sounded perfectly innocent.

Starsky was seriously pissed. These guys were implying that Richard Hutchinson was a philander and that Chris was Hutch’s half brother. “Now wait just a darn minute here --” 

“It’s okay, Starsk,” Hutch interrupted, gently. “I’m aware that my father may not have been perfect. And Chris and I do look enough alike to be brothers.”

“Just so,” Pickering repeated. “The Cominettis are extremely family-oriented. They took Angela back into their fold with no questions asked. The child was raised as if he’d been sired by one of them.”

“How generous,” Starsky snarled.

“Wasn’t it?” Holsten commented, dryly.

“You’ve been trying to get someone on the inside for years, you say?” Starsky prodded. “How’s that been goin’ for ya?”

“Not well,” Holsten told him. “They manage to ferret out all our attempted plants within days.”

“What does ‘ferret out’ mean?” Starsky already knew the answer.

“Dead.” The RCMP officer’s reply was as leaden as the word.

“That’s what I thought!” Starsky shoved his chair back and stood up, not even trying to hold his anger in check. “And you want Hutch to go in posing as the nephew. Right? Who came up with this lame brain idea, anyway?” He was hot and he didn’t care who knew it.

Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s arm, calming and pulling gently. He sat back down while Hutch looked at Holsten. “Where is Chris?” 

Holsten folded his hands on top of the files in front of him. “Chris has been touring the world for a couple of years, he hasn’t been back to Toronto since ‘79, shortly after his mother died. He sends postcards, photos of landmarks, souvenirs, anything he can mail, to let his family know he’s alive and well and thoroughly enjoying himself. They don’t care, he’s certainly not essential to the operation. But he _is_ family.”

“Something’s changed though,” Hutch guessed.

“Indeed it has.” Constantine took up the thread. “Chris’ lifestyle has always been to live for today, do whatever he wanted to and could afford. He seems to have paid the price.” He looked at Hutch with the first sign of compassion. “Do you know what HIV is?”

“Human immunodeficiency virus,” Hutch replied, cautiously.

“Basically a death sentence,” Starsky added.

“The way things stand now, yes.” Holsten’s voice was controlled but sad. 

“What’s the acronym they’re beginning to use?” Hutch asked no one in particular. “AIDS?”

“Correct again, Detective,” the senior agent told them. “Acquired immune deficiency syndrome. Although that’s far from accepted.” He checked a page of notes. “It’s my opinion that the medical profession will settle on that designation within the next year or so, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

“A death sentence by any other name…” Starsky muttered.

“The average person in your country,” Holsten resumed, as if Starsky hadn’t spoken, “believes it to be an affliction visited on homosexuals and drug users. They think it will never impact their lives.” He looked at each person around him. “We in Europe, and in other parts of the world, think differently. We’ve already felt some of the effects of a growing epidemic.” 

“That’s not really the issue here though,” said Pickering. He looked at Holsten. “Permission to get back to the topic at hand, sir?”

Holsten nodded.

“Chris is HIV positive,” Pickering told Starsky and Hutch. “But the family has no idea. They keep getting postcards and letters that a friend of his is sending, and they must believe he’s fine because we’ve had no word that they’re worried about him, or trying to find him.”

“How do you know that?” Starsky demanded. “If all your ‘plants’ have ended up dead, where are you getting your information?”

“We do have a maid in the household,” Pickering said. “Her name’s Maria. She was Angela’s nurse the last few years of her life. They’ve kept her on, as a regular servant, but she’s inconsequential to them now.”

“Which means she’s not in danger?” Starsky asked.

Pickering shook his head. “We don’t believe so.” 

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Hutch turned to Holsten. “What about Chris?”

“He has checked himself into an exclusive Swiss clinic.” The Interpol agent passed Hutch a photo and Starsky looked over his shoulder. The picture showed a chalet-style mansion with very tall, very gray mountains in the close background. “It caters to wealthy HIV-positive patients, purporting to offer radical cutting edge treatments, and even claiming that they’ll be able to cure the disease. With time. And a great deal of money, of course.”

“Of course.” Starsky was liking this idea less and less.

“Once someone gets into the clinic,” Holsten continued, “no information about them ever gets out. No one knows they’re there.”

“So Uncle Augustino believes Chris is happily cavorting around the world,” Hutch summarized, “while he’s really dying in Switzerland.”

“Succinctly put.” Pickering smiled, thinly. 

“How did you find my partner?” Starsky tried to keep the still-burning anger out of his voice. 

“My fault,” DEA agent Miller-Cummings admitted. “I was out here on a completely unrelated case in January, reading old newspapers. I came across articles about your remarkable return to duty after very nearly being killed by assassins nearly two years ago, Detective Starsky. The articles included pictures of you and your partner.” She stared again at Hutch. “When I saw your image, I remembered the files I’d been studying on the Cominetti family, and their ties to the U.S.” She shrugged without remorse. “I told my superiors, they told their RCMP contacts who, in turn, informed the rest of the agencies working to bring down the Cominettis.” She gestured around the table, “This is the result.”

“We’ve been studying you, Detective Hutchinson,” said Holsten, “for many weeks. Before we contacted you in person, we had to determine whether we thought you might be able to take Chris’ place. Your record is admittedly impressive. But it contains nothing approaching the potential hazards of infiltrating the Cominetti operation. You’d be by yourself, except for --”

“No he wouldn’t,” Starsky interrupted. “I’d go with him.”

The six agents looked uncomfortable. “Not possible.” Holsten clearly spoke for all of them. “The estate isn’t open to outsiders. Even a supposed best friend would be denied entrance. Your partner would have to go in alone. The maid we have there would be his contact.”

“Not gonna happen,” Starsky stated, unequivocally.

“Wait a minute, Starsk.” Hutch put a hand on his arm again and left it there. He looked around the table. “You’ve all put so much into this, I’m thinking you’ve figured out another way.” 

“There might be,” Pickering said and Holsten gestured for him to take the floor. “Chris is gay. We’re pretty sure that’s how he contracted HIV.” No one spoke, but there were nods. He looked at Hutch. “Also, in addition to Chris, most of the younger members of the Cominetti’s huge extended family are into the BDSM scene. Their own version of it, anyway.” 

“What do you mean, ‘their own version’?” Hutch was plainly becoming more tense by the moment and that set Starsky’s already taut nerves vibrating for reasons he didn’t understand.

“According to Maria and what she’s been able to learn, they’re a law unto themselves and follow their own protocols and rules.” Pickering checked his notes. “Safe words don’t exist as far as they’re concerned. A subservient’s health or well being, physical or mental, is immaterial.” He looked questioningly at Hutch. “You know what all this means, right?”

Hutch didn’t look at Starsky, he stared at Pickering. “We’ve investigated a couple of BDSM incidents. We’re not thoroughly versed though.”

“It could be heavy,” Pickering admitted. “But we believe it’s the only way to get your partner in with you.” He turned his focused attention to Starsky. “You could be his slave.”

“His _what_?” Starsky almost shouted the word.

“Easy, buddy.” Hutch patted his arm before he withdrew his hand. “Let him finish.”

Pickering went on, hurriedly. “We have video, taken in Denmark last year, of a reasonably mild session Chris was involved in. He was one of the dominants, a master, if you will. He spent the evening with a number of different slaves. He seemed very comfortable in the role.”

“That’ll work, Hutch.” Starsky turned hopeful eyes on his partner. “I can be your slave.” He turned to Holsten. “The family couldn’t deny me entrance then, could they?”

“No.” Holsten appeared to consider his words carefully. “They probably couldn’t. However…” He stared at Starsky before continuing. “I think you need to watch the video before you commit to anything, Detective.”

“Let’s see it then.” Starsky held his hands, palms up, and crooked his fingers in a ‘come on’ gesture.

Holsten nodded at Constantine. Picking up a briefcase from next to his chair, the Greek opened it and removed a video tape case. Dobey rolled his chair to the credenza, turned on the TV and the video tape player next to it. The agent got up, inserted the tape into the machine and hit ‘Play.’ After a few seconds of snow on the TV, an image appeared.

For the next two hours Starsky sat, stunned, while everyone watched the activities of a bondage/dominance/sado-masochism session. He had heard of such things but had never seen one. 

Men, for the most part, but not exclusively, circulated within the large, crowded room, making their selections from the kneeling ‘slaves.’ The kneelers’ only ‘clothes’ were nipple rings, cock rings, piercings, various forms of collars, plus ever-present wrist and ankle cuffs. And chains. Lots of chains. Gold ones, silver ones, delicate ones and heavy-looking ones. Some ran between nipple rings, some ran from a cock ring to a nipple ring chain. One ran from a cock ring, between the legs and up the back to a loop on the collar. 

When selected, the slave was compelled to suck the ‘master’ off, or accept anal penetration, without ever lifting their eyes or getting off their knees. If a slave offended a master in any way he or she was summarily stretched onto a wooden frame and beaten with anything from a riding crop to a cat o’ nine tails. The number of lashes was never less than five and, once, fifteen. It was barbaric and brutal and Starsky had a difficult time controlling his roiling stomach. 

When the tape ended, Constantine set the machine to rewind while everyone digested what he, and she, had seen. “Any questions?” The Greek kept his expression blank.

“You obviously checked me out thoroughly, Agent Holsten.” Hutch’s voice was hard, his face a study in granite. “You knew I was circumcised, like Chris is.”

To his credit, Holsten, and everyone else in the room shifted uncomfortably. Holsten’s pale skin flushed. “Of course, Detective. If you weren’t, there would have been no reason to contact you at all.”

“Then you also know about my scars,” Hutch persisted. “Especially my leg.”

Holsten nodded. Starsky noticed that everyone else at the table was suddenly concentrating on their papers, allowing the senior Interpol agent to win or lose this confrontation on his own. In silent support, Starsky slid his chair closer to Hutch.

“We do,” said Holsten. “But it shouldn’t be a problem. As you saw…” he gestured toward the TV, “Chris only took his jacket off the whole session. I’m sure you noted that singular style of tucking his open shirt tails into the back of his unfastened trousers. He had no need to remove those because, as you also saw, he didn’t wear shorts or briefs under them.”

Hutch took his time digesting everything, showing no emotion. “I’ll bet you even know which group my ex-wife and I belonged to.” He paused. “Don’t you?”

Starsky was surprised by this question but kept it inside.

Holsten held Hutch’s angry gaze, unrepentant. “As a matter of fact, we do.”

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Hutch sighed resignedly and nodded. “I’ll do it. But Starsky’s not going to be invol --”

“Oh yes I am!” Starsky caught his partner’s eyes and held them. “That’s not even open for discussion, Hutch.”

Before Hutch could counter Starsky’s statement, Holsten spoke up, what sounded like compassion in his tone. “This, Detective,” he gestured again toward the television, “is what you would be subjecting yourself to.”

Starsky met the agent’s stare. “You are not, repeat not, going to put my partner into the Cominetti organization, alone. If being his slave is the only way to get me in, then I’ll be his slave!”

Hutch stood up suddenly. “Could you give us a minute, please?” When Holsten nodded, Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder and headed outside. 

Starsky glared at the people around the table, slid his chair back, got up and followed his partner.

Hutch walked down the hall to the men’s room and entered, Starsky right behind. Together, they checked the stalls and made sure they were alone. 

Locking the door, Starsky turned to his best friend, putting the most determination he’d ever managed into his voice. “You are not going up there without me, Hutch.”

His partner walked to the farthest wall and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t look at Starsky. Probably couldn’t. “You wouldn’t be able to _pretend_ to be my submissive, Starsk. You would have to _be_ my sub.” When he looked up, his eyes were shadowed with fear. 

Starsky had never seen his best friend torn like this. He waited, his stomach in knots. 

“You would have to do what I say, when I say it.” The tone of Hutch’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion, and Starsky knew it was costing a great deal to sound so rigid and unfeeling. “None of your usual back talk, no jokes, no sass, no snide remarks or wise cracks. In fact, you wouldn’t be allowed to speak at all, unless given permission. That is, if the Cominetti scene is anything like the one Van and I joined.” 

“Holsten said they make up their own rules.”

“That could be worse.” Hutch pushed off the wall and began to pace the small area. “You would have strangers staring at your naked body. You’d be expected to service any master who made the request, orally or anally. If you broke their protocols or rules, it could cost you a severe beating. Maybe even your life, if they realized you weren’t really my slave.”

“Your life too, right?” 

Hutch didn’t answer but stopped his pacing and stared at Starsky, worry blatant in his eyes.

“Could you stop them?”

“I’d try. I’d do everything I could to protect you but, as your ‘master,’ I’d probably be expected to trade, and share your… favors. Especially if the Cominettis don’t subscribe to normal BDSM procedures, where enjoyment is supposed to be as important as pain. I _don’t_ like the idea that safe words aren’t used.”

“What are safe words?” 

“A way for the sub to call a halt to any activity or punishment. Each slave has one. It’s his or her safety net during a session.”

“How do you know all this?” Starsky was confused. He and Hutch had never discussed the subject in any depth. “Were you and Van really in a group?”

“She thought it’d be fun to join the scene.” 

“And was it?”

Hutch shook his head. “Not for me.” He began to pace again. “She got into the dominatrix role like a pro but when I wouldn’t play the submissive, either at home or during the sessions, she turned off. Two doms as a couple really doesn’t work. It was the true beginning of the end of our marriage.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“The point is,” Hutch sounded almost desperate, “if you broke any of their rules, I’m sure punishment would be expected. Maybe even required.”

“Flogging? Like in the video.”

“At least.”

“How many lashes?” 

“That would depend on the offence.” Hutch stopped again and appeared lost in thought. “I was told rules and protocols vary a little from group to group but it sounds like the Cominettis can do anything they want.”

“If I screwed up, and punishment was required… could you be the one to do it?”

Hutch stalked to him and gripped his upper arms, tightly. Starsky never took his eyes from his partner’s imploring gaze. Hutch’s face showed all his fear and uncertainty. “I might not be able to protect you, Starsk.”

“But if I’m not there, Hutch, you’ll have no protection at all. And that’s just not acceptable.”

Dropping his hands, Hutch turned away.

“Would I have to have the nipple rings? And one in my cock?” Starsky didn’t really want to ask, but he had to know. Up front, so to speak.

“I imagine so.” Hutch took a breath. “And they can’t be faked.”

“People are gonna want to touch ‘em, right? Pull on them?”

“More likely I’d be expected to hang chains from them.” Hutch’s voice was becoming more strained.

“Did you ever get one?”

“No.” His partner turned back to him. “I wasn’t willing to go that far. Van was furious that I wouldn’t play the game.”

“They’d hurt, right?”

“Undoubtedly.” 

“Well…” Starsky only had to force his grin slightly, “we both know I’ve got a high pain threshold. And besides…” he raised an eyebrow. “They wouldn’t be permanent. When the assignment’s over, we’ll take them out and the holes will close up.” Hutch wouldn’t meet his eyes but he went on with determination. “I’ve known women who changed their minds about ear piercing. They took the stud or hoop out and, before you knew it, the hole disappeared.”

“I guess.” Hutch’s expression and entire body language said he’d lost the battle. He wouldn’t argue any longer, but he wasn’t happy. 

“As soon as they mentioned ‘child porn’ buddy,” Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s tense biceps. “I knew you were hooked. So was I.” 

Unexpectedly, Hutch threw his arms around him. “Thank you.” His voice almost cracked. “I don’t want to do this to you, Starsk. But I don’t think I could do it without you.”

“That’s why you won’t have to.” Starsky gripped the familiar body hard before stepping out of the embrace and looking into his partner’s eyes. “Me and thee, Hutch.”

“Always.”

Starsky unlocked the door and followed Hutch back to the conference room. When they entered, the others didn’t have to break off conversations, they’d obviously been waiting with patience. Hutch sat down first and after a significant look at Holsten Starsky did, too. 

“We’ll do it.” Hutch confirmed what Starsky suspected they already knew. The agents had done their homework, on both of them.

Looks were exchanged but no one said anything.

“What now?” Starsky asked.

Constantine took a sheet of paper out of a folder and passed it over. “You’ll both have to go through intensive training. A man who was heavily involved in the Cominetti scene has agreed to help. But only after the rings have been inserted.” 

“What kind of training?” Starsky wasn’t having second thoughts but this revelation wasn’t helping.

“From a former slave,” said Holsten. He motioned to the sheet of paper. “It’s all on there. George will be coming here next week. He’ll instruct you, Detective Starsky, in slave positions and protocols, rules and behavior. Some or all of which may be unique to the Cominettis.” He turned to Hutch. “And he says he can teach you, Detective Hutchinson, the proper attitude and skills of a master.”

Starsky’s earlier supposition was proven correct. “You knew we’d agree to this, didn’t you? You’ve had it all planned out. Everything arranged.”

“We tried to cover contingencies,” said Constantine.

Starsky turned to his partner. “We’ve been set up, Hutch!”

Hutch nodded his sad agreement. “Looks like it.”

The senior agent’s eyes flashed. “We don’t expect your forgiveness, Detectives. What we hoped was that you’d be professional enough to help us bring these people down.”

“Relax, Holsten,” said Hutch, tiredly. “We’ve already told you we’d do it.”

Holsten stared at Starsky with possible sympathy. “The rings will have to be done as soon as possible. Preferably tomorrow. We have a contact close by who can do the procedures. You’ll need to heal as much as you can before the training begins. I’m told it can be rigorous.”

Starsky paled but kept his composure. Needles and rings through his nipples and cock. Terrific. 

Holsten stood and gathered up his folders and papers. “Agent Constantine and I will be here at ten in the morning to take you to the practitioner, Detective Starsky. You’re welcome to come along, Detective Hutchinson.”

“That’s good.” Hutch’s voice was full of sarcasm. “Because you couldn’t keep me away.”

The other agents got up and, carrying their briefcases and folders, left the room. Only Dobey remained behind. Starsky met their captain’s uncertain gaze with as much determination as he could muster. 

“You two better take care of each other,” Dobey commanded, gruffly. “I don’t want any empty desks in my squad room when this is over.”

“That’s a promise, Captain,” Starsky said.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, over pizza and beer at Hutch’s apartment, Starsky convinced his partner to tell him everything he could remember about his and Van’s BDSM experiences. It wasn’t pleasant listening but Starsky figured it might save both their lives. “Why wasn’t Van into knitting?” Starsky wondered at one point when things were getting heavy. “Or Mahjong? Charity work? Like other guy’s wives.”

“I wish I knew, Starsk.” 

Starsky couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the concept of pain resulting in pleasure, possibly because Hutch didn’t sound too sure about the principal himself. 

“I never reached that nirvana,” Hutch admitted. “Everything I tried, and that was done to me, was simply embarrassing and uncomfortable. Sometimes downright painful.” He stared at his tightly laced fingers and wouldn’t meet Starsky’s eyes. “I never allowed myself to be beaten though, so I can’t tell you anything about that aspect.” 

Starsky knew that Hutch had been without nipple and cock rings, too. He didn’t sleep well that night. 

*******

The next morning, as promised, Holsten and Constantine picked them up at the precinct and drove them to a clinic in Beverly Hills. Hopefully, it was far enough away from Bay City that no one would recognize them.

Starsky became increasingly uneasy as the time for the procedures approached. “You won’t leave, right?” 

“Not for a second.” Hutch looked at the two agents. “You’re not invited.”

Starsky and Hutch were shown into the treatment room. The Nurse Practitioner, a young man of slender build and jovial personality, handed the obligatory gown to Starsky. “Open to the front, please.” He left the room while Starsky shed his clothes. Hutch folded them neatly, setting the Adidas and socks under the chair. Starsky sat on the edge of the paper-covered table. 

Hutch pulled up the second uncomfortable chair and sat next to his knees. He held out his hand and Starsky grabbed it. “Stayin’ right here, Starsk.”

“I’m such a wimp.”

“High pain threshold, remember?” Hutch gave him a small smile.

“Right.” Starsky tried to return the smile but figured it probably didn’t look too confident.

The NP came back into the room, an entirely too cheerful expression on his youthful face, to Starsky’s way of thinking. “The men outside gave me these.” Holding out his hand, he displayed three gold rings. Two were about an inch and a half across, the third half again larger. 

Starsky swallowed hard and Hutch squeezed his hand. 

The nurse dropped the rings into a beaker of liquid. “We’ll let these disinfect while I get you prepped.” He turned to his glass-doored cabinet, wheeled a cart over, and began selecting supplies: needles, gauze pads, tape dispensers, plus unidentifiable items of all shapes, sizes and descriptions. Starsky could only stare, becoming more and more uncertain. 

“We can still get out of here, Starsk,” Hutch whispered.

Starsky took a deep breath. “I’m okay.” He sent a lop-sided grin toward his worried partner. “High pain threshold.” 

Hutch didn’t bother to reply. He simply rubbed the back of Starsky’s hand.

When the NP turned and pushed the cart toward the table, Starsky couldn’t help asking, “Shouldn’t I have some sort of pre-op pain killer?”

“Nonsense.” The young man waved a hand, nonchalantly. “This’ll all be over in no time. I’ll numb you up before the procedures but that’s all you’ll need. Then I’ll give you a week’s worth of antibiotics to take home. You’ll forget all about these in a few days. Guaranteed.”

Starsky really, truly wanted to believe the kid but, until he saw the same rings on the bastard’s own nipples and cock, he was afraid he was hearing words out of a ‘don’t worry’ brochure.

“Lie down, please,” the NP instructed. 

Starsky settled back, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable while Hutch stood up and moved behind his head. He placed his hands gently on either side of Starsky’s face. Starsky looked up into the sky blue worried eyes and tried, again, to smile. Again, he was afraid he wasn’t very successful.

The nurse untied the three knots of the gown and spread the sides apart, exposing Starsky’s chest and genitals. Paying no attention to the patchwork of scars, he studied both nipples, humming and nodding. “Very good. No hair on the areoles or nipples themselves. We won’t have to shave you.” He moved down to inspect Starsky’s cock, picking it up in cool fingers and spreading the slit. “Good again.” He hummed some more. “Clear access, we won’t have to involve the urethra. You won’t drip.”

“Terrific,” Starsky breathed. “I think.”

“Definitely good,” the NP replied. “Now, this won’t hurt a bit.” He picked up a can of what looked suspiciously to Starsky like Solarcain and sprayed the mist liberally around his glans, then on and around each nipple. “You’ll begin to get numb in a few seconds. When you are, I’ll inject a little Novocain and we’ll be ready to start.”

He turned away and decanted the beaker onto a sterile gauze pad. The liquid drained away, leaving the three gleaming rings. The kid donned a pair of latex gloves before he picked up a syringe and small bottle from the cart. Filling the syringe, he quickly injected the liquid into three separate places around each nipple, and three places around his glans. Starsky barely felt the pricks, but he’d watched, and the sight hadn’t done anything to settle his stomach. He really hated needles!

Before Starsky could decide if he was ready or not, the NP was back with what appeared to be a horse needle; the damn thing must have been an inch in diameter! He started to object but the kid had already inserted the tip into his right nipple, near the base, and forced it horizontally through. He pushed the full length of the long needle out the other side before pulling it back. This was done twice. By the time he pulled it out the second time, Starsky was nearly ready to scream. The spray and injections hadn’t dulled the nerves nearly enough; it bloody well hurt! 

Hutch pressed his hands to the sides of Starsky’s head and tilted it back. Starsky, tears in the corners of his eyes, looked up into the tortured gaze of his partner. He knew Hutch was almost physically feeling the same pain. He managed to smother the No! Wait! Stop! I’m outta here! words that wanted to leap from his mouth, gritted his teeth and told himself to grow up. It was only a little discomfort. He looked back down at what his tormentor was doing now. 

The NP had opened the first of the two smaller rings by unscrewing the tiny overlapping clasp. Starsky sucked in a deep breath and tried not to move a muscle. Surprisingly, the insertion was smooth, and didn’t add to the level of pain the piercing had caused. ‘One down, only two to go.’ He looked up into Hutch’s anxious eyes and tried another smile. More successful this time he hoped.

The nurse moved quickly around the table and preformed the same procedure on the left nub. Starsky managed not to scream, but it was a close thing. Two down.

With the final, most dreaded piercing left, Starsky closed his eyes. Hutch gently wiped the tears from the corners and bent down, his mouth next to Starsky’s left ear. “Nearly done, babe, you’re doin’ great!”

Starsky kept his eyes closed; he really did not want to see his cock being punctured. When the needle entered his sensitive flesh, he did scream. It felt like a fucking telephone pole being forced through the most delicate part of his anatomy and it was not a pleasant sensation. 

“Easy, Starsk,” Hutch murmured, “almost over.”

Starsky managed not to bellow again when the kid inserted the loop and closed it. It seemed like hours though, before he could take a breath. It probably wasn’t more than a minute or two although it felt like forever. ‘Never again,’ he silently swore. ‘And when this assignment is over, they’re all comin’ out!’

He opened his eyes and Hutch was smiling down at him, radiantly. It was such a beautiful smile, Starsky almost felt everything had been worth it. 

The NP was throwing his used implements away and returning everything else to the cabinet. “Okay, so I lied,” he admitted, cheerfully. “It hurts no matter what I try to do beforehand. Only way it wouldn’t was if I put you under anesthetic and we’re not licensed for that.” He turned back, shrugged his thin shoulders. “So we tell people it won’t hurt a bit. It’s not so bad when someone’s only getting one. If it’s more though… well, all I can say is, you did good, Mister.”

With Hutch’s help, Starsky managed to sit up. “I may forgive you, kid. But it probably won’t be in this lifetime.”

“I know.” The young man donned a fresh pair of gloves before uncapping a tube of ointment. “You’ll need to apply this to each site at least twice a day, preferably after showering.” While he talked, he worked the cream gently into the hole in each nipple, sliding the rings back and forth. Then he did the same with the head of Starsky’s penis. “You must keep the sites clean. As much as it hurts, try to rotate the rings as often as possible. Believe it or not, it’ll help the healing.” 

He recapped the tube and handed it to Hutch. He taped a large gauze pad over each nipple before wrapping and taping another around the cockhead. “Take these off when you get home and allow them to air. They should all be healed enough in a couple of days for you to do without coverings at all. Come back though, if any sign of infection sets in.”

He turned to his desk and began filling out a form. “They won’t be completely healed for four to six weeks. But that shouldn’t keep you from your normal activities. Don’t go hanging chains from them just yet.” 

“Can we go now?” Starsky masked most of the pain and irritation he was feeling. He looked at Hutch. _Four to six weeks? That’s not what Holsten implied_. Hutch heard the statement but shook his head and shrugged.

The NP signed a form, turned around and handed it to Starsky. He seemed to sense that his words had caused consternation. “Some people heal faster than others, of course, you could be one of the quick ones.”

“I’d better be,” Starsky muttered.

“These are your after-procedure instructions,“ the kid tapped the pages. He went to the cabinet again and came back with two pill bottles, handing them to Hutch. “Have him take two of each of these every four hours, with food. The first is to prevent infection, the other’s for pain. Come back right away if you have problems.”

“Thank you,” said Hutch, sincerely. 

“Thanks, kid,” Starsky repeated, only a little grudgingly.

The young man smiled and left. 

“That went well.” Starsky slid off the table and nearly fell, his knees not ready to support him. Hutch was there to hold him, careful not to touch the newly pierced nipples or cock. “Thanks, partner.”

“Let’s get you dressed so we can get the hell out of here.”

*******

Holsten and Constantine refrained from asking questions on the silent trip back to the station and, for that, Starsky was grateful. When they pulled into the garage, Constantine handed a sheet of paper over the seat to Hutch. “Here’s the name and address of the hotel where George will be staying. He’s expecting you day after tomorrow.” The Greek looked at Starsky with what appeared to be understanding. “Hope you’ll be healed up enough by then to begin your training.”

“The good Lord willin’ and the cricks don’t rise,” Starsky responded.

Constantine must not have heard the expression before. 

“We’ll be there,” Hutch assured the agent, taking the paper. 

“In the meantime,” Holsten told them, “Tomas and I, with your captain’s permission, will be setting up in the conference room. I hope you’re both quick studies. There’s much you will need to learn.”

“Every scrap of information we have on the Cominettis is being UPS'd,” Constantine said. “We’ll be ready by the time you’ve finished your first session with George.” 

“Great.” Hutch sounded tired. “We’ll see you Thursday.”

“Grab something to eat on your way down that night,” Holsten added. “We won’t be catered and don’t intend to send out for food.”

Starsky was beginning to suspect he and Hutch were being led to the slaughter. And they were going like proverbial sheep. He climbed carefully out of the car while Hutch darted around and held his arm for support. Constantine drove away. 

“Need to go upstairs for anything, Starsk?”

“Naw, let’s go home. We can check in with Dobey from there.”

“My place or yours?” Hutch led the way to his car. They hadn’t brought the Torino, knowing Starsky would be in no condition to drive.

“Yours,” Starsky decided. 

“Fine. But you’re sleeping in the bed then. You’ll never be comfortable on the couch.”

Starsky leaned against the passenger’s side of the LTD. After a couple of deep breaths, he looked up at his worried partner. “Would you sleep in the bed with me tonight, Hutch? I think I’m really gonna need you to hold me.”

“You got it.”

Hutch opened the door for him and Starsky slid carefully onto the seat. The aerosol and numbing injections had worn off completely. When Hutch got in on the driver’s side, Starsky held out his hand, palm up. “Could I have a couple of those pain pills, please?”

“Sure, Starsk.” Digging the bottles out of his pocket, Hutch checked to see which one was for pain, shook two into his palm and held them out to Starsky. “No water, you’ll have to swallow them dry.”

Starsky did just that and settled back, his head falling against the seat. “Worst is over, right? Piece o’ cake from here on?” 

“I sure hope so, Starsk.” 

*******

For the next two days, Starsky tried to sleep off the stress-induced pain-exacerbated fatigue that overwhelmed him. He knew the additional pressure he’d put on himself, to back his partner in the upcoming operation, didn’t help either. Hutch was going to be hung out to dry if Starsky couldn’t perform his submissive role believably. 

During the times we was awake enough to listen and talk sensibly, Hutch told him as much more as he could about the BDSM scene he and Van had experimented with. Admittedly, it wasn’t a lot because Hutch had refused to get very deeply involved. And, conceivably, it could bear little resemblance to the Cominetti’s version. But it was better than nothing. 

*******

On the morning of the appointment Hutch drove to George’s hotel. Although the rings didn’t cause as much pain as they had initially, Starsky was still having to take the pills and didn’t think he should be driving. Hutch seemed more than glad to do the chauffeuring.

George turned out to be a gnome of a man, short, skinny and bent. Standing as straight as he could, the top of his head only came up to Hutch’s chest, and it obviously caused him pain to raise it enough to look either of them in the eyes. 

Starsky was inclined to treat the old man deferentially, just based on appearance, until he realized the guy was anything but brittle and cowed. 

“My name is George.” His voice was hard and, by his tone, he would brook no disrespect or pity. “You’re Dave and Ken. I don’t want to know anything else. I’m to instruct you, Dave, in the positions, rules and protocols of a Cominetti slave. You,” he turned to Hutch, “are to be trained in the art and skill of a master. Is that correct, gentlemen?”

Starsky nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

The old man pointed a bony finger at Starsky. “Strip. Completely. Every stitch. From now on, the minute you walk through that door, you are to be naked as quickly as possible.”

Starsky stared at the little guy, open-mouthed. 

“Your first lesson,” George stated, harshly, “is that you are no longer a person. You are property. You are chattel! Get used to it.” He walked to a table where books, photographs and sketches were spread. He turned back and leaned against the edge, nailing Starsky with a no-nonsense glare. “When you are in this room, you will not speak unless directly told to, either by your master or me. Any infraction will be dealt with summarily and not with leniency.” His expression was devoid of feeling. “I’m familiar with the scene you’ll be in, so you must believe I know what I’m talking about. There will be no ‘play’ involved, there are no safe words. There is only mastery and submission.” 

“I always thought safe words were universal,” Hutch said. “But Holsten --”

“ _Not_ in the Cominetti circle!” George straightened. “They never allow anything to disrupt their sessions. They care nothing for subs.” Not waiting for further comments, he turned back to the table, ostensibly sorting through his materials. “I can’t imagine a more difficult and potentially dangerous assignment. But, then…” he turned back once again, drilling Starsky, and Hutch, with a penetrating look. “I haven’t been asked my opinion. I’m here to teach and train. There is much you both need to learn so thoroughly that it’s rote. You will not be able to think about your actions and reactions. They must be immediate and appear natural to all observers. Because, believe me, you will be watched, carefully. Rules must be followed. Any breaks or offenses will be dealt with as I have said.” He pointed again at Starsky. “Strip!”

Starsky cast one supportive look at his partner before removing his clothes. He had decided that morning that he’d do without the gauze patches. Still, he found himself embarrassed when he stood, naked, in front of the gnome. 

George walked slowly around him, peering intently at his scars. “Interesting road map.” He fingered a nipple ring gently. “These are fresh but shouldn’t interfere with training.”

Hutch bristled and Starsky shot him a calming look. _He’s only trying to get to me, Hutch. I’m cool with it. So far._

His partner nodded. He shed his jacket and holstered weapon onto an arm chair before moving over to stand next to Starsky. 

“First rule!” George shouted so loudly Starsky actually jumped. “Naked when in this room. Second rule: assume presentation position as soon as you are naked.”

Starsky opened his mouth but remembered the prohibition in time.

“Speak!” George commanded.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what that means.”

George cast a despairing look at Hutch. “He knows nothing?”

“No, sir. He’s never been involved in the scene and we haven’t had time to talk about anything except generalities. I don’t know enough myself and I didn’t want to give him the wrong --”

“Never mind!” George stalked behind Starsky, kicked him lightly in the back of the right knee at the same time he pressed downward on the shoulders. Starsky fell to his knees, startled. The jolt sent ripples of pain through his chest and cock. ‘Owwww!’ he thought, but kept silent. 

George pulled his shoulders back, with a knee between his shoulder blades. “Chest out! Head down!” He followed this demand with a hand on top of Starsky’s head, pushing his chin almost onto his chest. “Third rule: you must _never_ touch a non-slave, or look a non-slave in the in the eyes unless specifically granted permission. Such behavior would require as many as twenty lashes.”

“That many?” Starsky lowered his eyes immediately, knowing he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. 

“Speaking without authorization.” George’s tone was flat. “Ten lashes.” 

Starsky looked up, shocked at the judgment. 

George was staring at Hutch. “You will administer them, Master Ken.” The gnome moved to the table, picked up a riding crop and held it out.

“Ma… uh… maybe… later, George.” Hutch sat down in one of the wing back chairs. “Let’s sort through all the positions and basic rules for now. We’ll get to punishment… uh, later.”

“This is not a game!” George sounded really angry. “The group you’re getting yourselves into will kill you if you screw up.” He picked up a drawing from the table, took it to Starsky and held it out. “Don’t touch!” George yelled, when Starsky reached for it. “Just look.” 

Hutch got up and stood behind Starsky so that he could see the paper, too. On it were five line drawings of male figures in positions identified as presentation, obeisance, submission, punishment and display. 

George handed the page to Hutch. “These are the basic poses and their names, as accepted in the Cominetti scene. Learn them.” He reached down and roughly spread Starsky’s knees apart. 

‘Hey!’ Starsky almost said it out loud, managing not to speak at the last second. ‘My hips don’t go there, pal.’ But he held the painful pose as George forced his chin onto his chest again, pulled his shoulders farther back, and placed his hands on his thighs, palms up. 

The old man walked around, assessing the position from all angles. “Acceptable. For now.” 

George had Starsky stand again, easing his aching hip joints. The gnome handed pieces of leather and small padlocks to Hutch, one at a time, instructing him in the proper placement and fastening of the collar, wrist and ankle cuffs. Each item was lined with fleece but they were so tight and uncomfortable, Starsky had difficulty swallowing at first. This was his second realization that the operation he had agreed to was going to be extremely difficult. But he reminded himself that Hutch was _not_ going into that place alone! ‘I can do this’ was his new resolve.

For the remainder of the morning, George instructed Starsky in the basic poses, rigidly correcting any mistakes and adjusting limbs forcefully. Although not strenuous, the unrelenting stress and discipline tired him out more quickly than he would have believed.

A knock on the door interrupted the training. George hurried Starsky into the bathroom, from where he heard a room service cart being rolled in. After a minute or so, he assumed the waiter had been tipped and had left, since he heard the hall door close. 

George led him from the bathroom by snapping a leash onto a ring at the front of his collar. Starsky felt absolutely ridiculous being led like a dog to the table. George handed the loop end of the lead to Hutch. “He kneels in presentation position at your right side during meals, Master Ken, or whenever you are seated. He also assumes that pose when commanded by you or any other master.”

Starsky moved to the right side of Hutch’s chair and knelt. George inspected his posture before, surprisingly, moving his knees closer together. Starsky almost sighed with relief. 

“This is modified presentation,” the old man informed them. “Usually only in actual sessions is full presentation required. This is more acceptable in a mixed company of extended family members.”

Hutch’s right hand fell softly on Starsky’s head, the fingers twining in his hair. His partner leaned down and whispered, “You’re beautiful, Starsk.”

Just for a moment, Starsky felt like crying. He suddenly realized that, after all the tension, pain, and stress of the previous days, he’d do anything for a kind word and a comforting gesture from Hutch. He knew he’d asked for this, and repeated his new mantra, but that voice and hand were a balm. 

“Compassion is not healthy, Master Ken,” said George. “It will be criticized.”

“I’ll deal with it, George.” Hutch’s voice carried such conviction it made Starsky shiver. Hutch stroked his back.

George put a plate with Starsky’s lunch on the floor, but he found he wasn’t hungry. Hutch held a glass of orange juice to his mouth and made him drink the whole thing. “Need to keep you hydrated, babe.”

“True, Master Ken,” George agreed. “Fluid is vital, especially when the slave is under duress.”

Hutch fed him mouthfuls of his omelet and Starsky choked them down. He also ate as much of his sandwich as he could manage. Hutch’s right hand stayed in contact with his head, shoulder or back during the entire meal and Starsky was grateful for the support. Even though he knew it showed weakness, he didn’t care. He hurt, he was scared, and he needed to know his partner was right there with him. When he was finished, Hutch handed him two pain pills. Starsky took them and drank another glass of juice.

After the cart had been collected, it was back to training. All the positions were repeated and Starsky found that lunch had helped. He was able to achieve and hold each pose, with very few corrections from George. He began to feel almost cheerful.

“You must deal with the punishment now, Master Ken,” George said, in his no nonsense voice. “You cannot put it off. Observers will think you have no discipline and they won’t respect you.”

Hutch began to pace. 

Starsky kept his gaze on the floor but could feel his partner’s reluctance and anxiety. He knew it would be agony for Hutch to strike him deliberately. But he also realized he’d fucked up. He’d broken the rules. For that, he had to be punished. He knew it, Hutch knew it. But he also knew Hutch was eating himself up over it. “Permission to speak, Master?” He sensed his partner look at the gnome and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the old man nod. 

“Granted.” Hutch’s voice was tight and wary.

“Please, Master… I broke the rules. You must punish me.”

“Aw, Starsk --”

“Please, Master.” 

There was a long silence. Finally, Hutch managed to ask, “You said a number earlier, George, but I’ve forgotten. What’s appropriate?” 

“For a first offense, at the very beginning of training, and since he has been a good student today, I’ll lower my initial judgment. Five strokes.” 

“Where do I hit him?”

“Across the buttocks is the preferred location with the Cominettis.” George’s tone was level, emotionless. “They are the most sensitive, but they also heal quickly. And with any skill you won’t break the skin.” 

“What do I use?” 

“I have the crop, as you saw,” George reminded him. “Or you can use your belt.”

“Permission to speak, Master?” 

Starsky heard Hutch draw in a deep breath. “Granted.”

“Your belt, please, Master. That way we keep it between us. Thee and me.”

Hutch took two quick strides and cupped his face, lifting Starsky’s head to meet his eyes. “As you wish, Slave.” He kissed Starsky’s forehead.

Starsky was stunned. Hutch had never kissed him like that before. It was almost a benediction. And it felt wonderful. Lowering his eyes again, he silently chanted his mantra.

George lifted him up by the elbow and guided him to the wing chair, placing his arms across the back and leaning him forward slightly. He nudged Starsky’s feet apart, undoubtedly to give him better balance. “He must count the strokes out loud, Master Ken.” George stepped aside.

Starsky heard Hutch unbuckle his belt and draw it through the loops. ‘Please, God, don’t let me be a baby. I can do this.’

“Count, Davey,” said his partner. 

Davey! Hutch had never called him that in all the years they’d known each other. It was a diminutive he didn’t particularly like but right now, today, it had power. It rolled around in his mind and he decided he loved the sound. He was so caught up in the thought of the nickname he wasn’t prepared for the first lash. He very nearly let out a yelp but held it in. “One… Master.”

The second stroke overlaid the first and hurt worse. “Two, Master.” When the third blow fell, he gasped, “Three…” Then, before he could stop himself, “four, five.”

“ _Slave_!” Hutch’s voice hit him like a whip and Starsky flinched. “For that infraction, two additional strokes. You must learn your place.”

Starsky could hardly believe the change in his partner’s voice; he had indeed become Master Ken. But he knew immediately that Hutch was right. He’d screwed up again and neither of them could afford for that to happen once they were in the Cominetti compound. “Yes, Master.” 

“I will complete the original five strokes. After that, there will be two more. Count them.”

“Four, Master,” Starsky croaked, when the stroke fell. “Five, Master.” 

“Now, the last two.” Hutch’s hoarse voice was almost unrecognizable. 

Starsky realized that Hutch was feeling every lash. ‘I’m so sorry, babe.’ He counted the next strokes with difficulty because he was really hurting by the end. But after the seventh and last blow, Hutch was there, putting an arm around his shoulders and supporting his unsteady legs.

George shoved the chair aside and stood in front of them, appraising both, ruthlessly. At last, he nodded. “Well done, Master Ken. I wasn’t sure you had the fortitude to do that.” 

He put a finger under Starsky’s chin and lifted his head, looking sternly into Starsky’s eyes. “Well done to you, too, Slave. You fucked up, but you took your punishment without complaint. Learn from it.” 

Moving to the table, he brought back a tube of what appeared to be some sort of ointment and handed it to Hutch. “Use this on the welts. They should be better by tomorrow. Hopefully, punishment will not be required again.”

He stepped back. “That’s enough for today. Nine o‘clock in the morning. We have little time, and you both have much to learn. In addition to practicing everything we have done today, you, Slave, will demonstrate what fellatio skills you have.” 

He transferred his cold gaze to Hutch. “You, Master Ken, will show me if you can perform penetration adequately. You never know what may be required of you at the Cominetti compound.” Without a backward glance, he turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Starsky stared at his partner. Had George just said what he thought he’d heard? Starsky was going to have to suck Hutch off tomorrow? And Hutch was going to fuck him? 

Hutch wouldn’t meet his eyes. Picking up Starsky’s clothes, he helped him dress. They left the suite.


	3. Chapter 3

Holsten and Constantine had said they’d be waiting in the precinct conference room after the training session so, even though Starsky really wasn’t in any condition, they made their way downtown. Stopping at one of Starsky’s favorite places, he stood and managed to eat two tacos while Hutch choked down a vegetarian burrito.

There were so many things Starsky wanted to say, or ask, he didn’t know where to start and he said nothing. Hutch must have been in the same quandary because he didn’t speak either. The meal and both segments of the ride were accomplished in slightly strained silence.

Starsky had made the trip leaning on his left hip and shoulder because he couldn’t put his welt-covered butt on the seat. By the time they made it up to the sixth floor at the station, taking the stairs in order to avoid having to talk to any night-shift cops, he was shaky and sweating. He stopped outside the conference room doors, needing a moment. 

“I’m so sorry, Starsk.”

Starsky waved off the apology with a thin smile. “Don’t Hutch. You only did what you had to. I forgot my role. The punishment was necessary.” He touched his partner’s cheek lightly. “I’m a slow learner sometimes but I do learn. I won’t do it again.” He smiled, self-deprecatingly. “I hope.” Wiping his face on his sleeve, he straightened up, took a deep breath and walked into the room. He was damned if he’d let the agents see how difficult the last few days had been.

In addition to the Interpol agents, Pickering was there. He sent Starsky a silent, supportive smile, after which he became all business.

Two large rolling bulletin boards had been brought in and were covered, back and front, with 8x10 photos of at least fifty people, men and women. Each had information printed on cards underneath: name, relationship to everyone else, age, plus any pertinent data ‘Chris’ might be expected to know. Hutch would need to learn to recognize each of these people, and speak to them as if he’d known them all his life. 

Starsky was there to learn who they were, as well. Keeping his ears open and watching everyone from his ‘invisible person’ slave position, he might hear things and possibly help his partner through any tough spots. Besides, whatever Hutch had to learn, Starsky wanted to know, too. They were in this together. 

While they were studying the images, the sound track from the Denmark video played in the background. Chris’ voice had been augmented so that Hutch could get used to the tone and inflections as well as speech patterns. 

Starsky memorized everything he ever wanted to know about Ms. Melissa Cominetti. She was a horse-faced woman, relatively short and thirty pounds overweight for her height, according to the printed card. She had red hair that could only have come from a bottle, jowly cheeks and too-red lips. The color of her eyes, behind horn rimmed glasses, was noted simply as ‘blue.’ He moved to the adjacent image. 

Hutch slid in to study Melissa’s photo and information. “Chris doesn’t use contractions,” Hutch commented, while looking at Melissa’s picture.

“Good catch,” Holsten said, approval unmistakable in his tone. “Most people don’t notice that. He slips up sometimes, but not often.”

“You will need to help me with that, Davey.” Hutch turned to Starsky. “I am going to do my best from now on, and at all times, to use Chris’ voice and speech patterns. When I make mistakes, please correct me.”

“Yes, Master.” Starsky’s reply held no hint of sarcasm. Turning around, he caught the three agents looking at each other in unmasked surprise. “I have a question. Will I have to be naked all the time?” Everyone looked at everyone else. “I mean, unless Hutch and I are in an actual BDSM session, wouldn’t it be normal if I was wearing clothes?”

When the others deferred to him, the RCMP officer took the floor. “According to Maria, Detective, many family members are into the scene. Those members have slaves.” He glanced around, possibly hoping for support from the Interpol agents. He didn’t get it. “Whenever the family gathers for any occasion at the estate, from simple meals to events, slaves accompany their masters, naked. Even though such gatherings aren’t considered to be sessions, per se, the same basic rules and protocols are followed.” He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “I’m sorry. The Cominettis are a law unto themselves.”

“Never mind.” Starsky tried to sound nonchalant. “I was just asking.”

“It was a good thought.” Hutch patted his arm in silent consolation.

*******

The following morning, George ran Starsky through the five basic positions, finding very little to correct or criticize. Presentation position was problematic because the welts, although better after several coatings of the salve, were still painful. He had to hold his cheeks slightly off his heels, straining his thighs to the point of seizure. Thankfully, George didn’t make him hold the pose too long or go back to it too often.

“Agent Holsten called me last night,” George said, off-handedly, while studying Starsky’s display position. “A tailor will be along shortly to take measurements of you, Master Ken, for your new wardrobe. Therefore, we will delay the activities I had planned for today, until tomorrow. That will give your ring wounds and welts additional time to heal, Dave.”

Starsky risked a brief glance at Hutch and found the same intense relief on his partner’s face he was feeling, grateful for the reprieve. It wasn’t a full pardon, but at least he had one more day to prepare himself, mentally. 

When the tailor arrived, George had Starsky wait in the bathroom, in full presentation position, during the consultation. Starsky knew no one was watching, and he could have slacked off, but his pride and determination conspired to keep him in the rigid pose the entire time, butt pain or no. When George came to get him, he actually appeared pleased. 

During lunch, Starsky could feel George’s appraisal and knew he wasn’t hiding his discomfort and exhaustion as well as he’d thought. 

“You’re both progressing well and it’s my judgment that you would benefit by taking the rest of the afternoon off and getting some sleep.” George pushed his chair back and stood up. “Therefore, I wish you a good evening, and will see you in the morning. Practice!” 

Starsky was too surprised to speak, even if he’d had permission.

Hutch’s fingers threaded into his hair. “He is right, Davey. You have hardly slept since this whole thing started.”

“And you have?” Still, Starsky wasn’t about to argue. After he’d gotten dressed, Hutch put an arm around his shoulders on the way down to the garage. Starsky leaned against him, even more tired than he had realized.

The rest of the afternoon, he spent in Hutch’s big bed, his partner spooned behind him. As soon as Hutch fell asleep, he gratefully followed. 

That night, Starsky trailed Hutch around the conference room, which now contained six boards full of photos and information. He was beginning to wonder just how many people lived in this compound. Shoving that thought aside, he memorized each face and the accompanying data.

*******

The morning of their third day of training went as well as Starsky could have hoped a few days earlier. He moved from pose to pose, at either George’s or Hutch’s order, not making any mistakes, not lifting his eyes and not saying a word. He chanted his mantra silently.

While Starsky maintained different rigid poses, George instructed Hutch in the mental attitude and physical presence of a master. “You must be aware of your slave at all times, Master Ken, yet appear to be unconcerned. Members of this family you will be in are predators. They will search for any chink in your armor and use it to abuse your sub.” He drilled Hutch in the haughty attitude necessary to appear disconnected, while keeping mental acuity. 

Starsky held display position as George lectured, knowing there was nothing the gnome could teach his partner about mental acuity that Hutch didn’t already know. He never wavered in his pose though, and kept silent.

Hutch attached and released Starsky’s leash dozens of times until he could do it blindfolded, without the slightest fumble. Starsky never twitched a muscle until commanded to follow, after which he walked a pace behind, and half a pace to Hutch’s right, eyes downcast, hands at his sides. They moved around and around the room, into and out of the bedroom, even the bathroom, while Starsky learned what was required to keep slack in the lead, yet not stumble onto his master’s heels if he stopped suddenly.

During the lunch break, George allowed Starsky to stand and massage his aching thighs and hips with horse liniment. As soon as they felt better, Starsky took his position, kneeling next to Hutch’s chair, and was rewarded with bites from his plate. He ate his burger and fries hungrily from the dish on the floor.

After the lunch cart had been taken away, George wasted no time in getting to the subjects he had mentioned two evenings before. “Modified presentation in front of your master, Slave. Eyes down at all times.”

Starsky dropped to the required position.

“You will be expected to disrobe your master --” 

“For the role I will be playing, George,” Hutch broke in, “I will not ever be undressed. I will be exposing only my cock.”

George was silent for a while, his face betraying none of his thoughts. “Whatever you say, Master Ken. That will make things a great deal easier.” He walked around both of them. “You, slave, must remove the belt, unfasten the waistband of the trousers, and lower the zipper, using only your lips and teeth. It is an activity that never fails to please an audience, if done well.” 

Removing Hutch’s belt proved difficult and Starsky couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. With George’s approval, he and Hutch decided to wait until the new wardrobe arrived. They would practice that portion of the operation at home, with the specific articles.

In theory, unsnapping and unzipping was easy. In practice, it required… well, practice. Starsky learned to undo the fastening with this lips, then gently dig out the zipper tab with his teeth. At that point, it was only a case of perfecting the art of pulling the zipper down in one motion, without stops or jerks. And without getting it caught in soft, curly, golden hair. That was the tough part. 

Hutch stood, patiently, while Starsky attempted the maneuver five or six times. Starsky was in the very close proximity of his partner’s growing erection and it began to unnerve him, making him clumsy and unsure. He could also feel Hutch’s increasing tension. 

Unexpectedly, George called a halt to the activity. “Practice this at home, too, gentlemen. We don’t have any more time today.” 

Starsky leaned away from Hutch’s groin and his partner’s fully engorged manhood unfolded energetically from its confinement, slapping him in the forehead. Starsky froze. He’d been trying to come to terms with what he was about to do for the past two days but just hadn’t managed it. How many years had he and Hutch ignored the sneers and innuendoes from locker room buddies? ‘Cocksucker’ had even been spray painted on their lockers early in their careers. They had overcome the allegations by simply ignoring the remarks and being the best cops in the department. Now here he was, on his knees in front of his partner, preparing to suck his cock. He couldn’t seem to breathe.

“Would you give us a minute, George?” Hutch asked. 

Footsteps left the room. The bedroom door was closed.

Hutch knelt in front of him and lifted his chin. Starsky had no choice but to meet the concerned gaze. The normally brilliant sky blue eyes were clouded with undisguised doubt and uncertainty. “You can still back out of this, Starsk. The rings can come out, the holes will close, and you will soon forget all about it.”

“I notice you’re not sayin’ you could still back out.” Starsky knew his voice was strained and tight but he couldn’t help it.

“No. I do not think I can at this point.”

“Then I ain’t goin’ to, either.”

“Okay. So what is bothering you?”

Starsky had to try twice before he could get the word out. “Cocksucker.” 

“Aw, Starsk.” Hutch drew Starsky into his arms and cradled him against his chest. 

Starsky fought down his tears. “All those years, Hutch, they tried to beat us down, humiliate us, make us quit. We laughed at ‘em. Made ‘em eat their filthy words. Only now…” he looked up, pleadingly, into his partner’s face. “I’m gonna be exactly what they called me. And it’s got me all messed up.”

“Listen to me, David Starsky.” Hutch’s voice was firm and resolute. “You will be my partner in the most dangerous undercover operation anyone in the department has ever attempted. In order to do that you will have to act as my slave. In that role, you may be required to pleasure me. As I may be required to penetrate you.” He stroked Starsky’s arm and held him close. “Neither action will make us fuck-buddies or cocksuckers, as our esteemed colleagues used those words. We will still be who we are, best friends, partners, pals, damn good cops.”

Starsky drew in a deep breath and stiffly returned to presentation position. With his eyes downcast, he whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Hutch.” He raised his head and looked at the suddenly, surprisingly clear cornflower blue eyes. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, Starsk.” Hutch shook his head. “Anything that gets us through the coming ordeal is a good thing. And if it helps, I don’t just think, I know I’m falling in love with you, too.” He brushed a tear from the corner of Starsky’s eye. “Don’t bother to point out my contractions right now, okay?” He smiled into Starsky’s eyes. “This is me talking, not Chris. When the assignment’s over, we’ll deal with our new feelings.” He sat back on his haunches. “For now, if you can force yourself to put my cock in your mouth, we can move on with the training.” He got to his feet, holding Starsky’s questioning gaze. “Otherwise, I’ll tell George, we’re finished.”

“I won’t have to force myself,” Starsky said through his tear-choked throat. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, I think.” He looked down for a moment, to get his thoughts together, then looked back up. “I want to do it.” He tried to sound confident because Hutch had to know how he felt, what he desperately needed. “I want to do it better than you’ve ever been sucked in your life. And then I want you to fuck me. Fuck me deep and hard and come inside me like you never have before…. With anyone.”

Hutch stepped back a pace as if struck. “Now there’s a mental image I can live with, partner.” He strode around the room twice and came back. The look Starsky now saw on his best friend’s face, and in his body language, told him they’d crossed through a doorway and everything would be different from then on. Hutch appeared to relish the idea of what Starsky had said and it made Starsky happy right down to his numb toes. 

Hutch walked confidently to the bedroom door and knocked. “We are ready now, George.”

The little gnome came out and moved purposefully to Starsky’s side. “Assume you’re being watched and judged by any number of strangers, Dave. You must bring your master to orgasm within a reasonable amount of time, with a minimum of fuss, and no injury.” 

He stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Starsky’s hair and jerked his head back, staring into the startled eyes. “Never, ever use your teeth on your master’s cock or balls. Use your lips, your tongue and the muscles in your cheeks and throat. You may also use your hands, with permission, gently and smoothly.” He released Starsky’s hair and stepped back. “For now, put your hands behind you. You will practice taking as much of the length of your master’s shaft into your mouth and down your throat as possible, while at the same time, laving it with your tongue. Begin.”

Starsky clasped his hands as ordered, rose up onto his knees and, looking up at Hutch through his eyelashes, took his master’s phallus into his mouth. 

For the next hour, Starsky experimented with his lips, tongue and hands. He had his first lesson in the art of suppressing the gag reflex and opening his throat so that he could take Hutch’s member as far down as possible. He brought his partner to the ragged edge several times, only to have George correct him in some minor point, making Hutch groan and step away. 

“Enough!” George bellowed at one point, when Hutch seemed nearly ready to explode. “Before you lose that blue veiner, Master Ken…” George pointed Hutch toward the Duncan Phyfe sofa. Raising Starsky to his feet, he walked him to the sofa and pushed his chest down onto the rolled arm. Starsky’s nipple rings screamed. He ignored them. George moved his feet back and apart, spreading his butt cheeks. 

Looking over his shoulder Starsky watched George give Hutch a tube of lubricant. “Ream your slave, Master Ken. Show me your best technique.”

“That was a little coarse, George.” Hutch chuckled. “But I think I know what you want me to do.” He uncapped the tube and coated his shaft thoroughly with the gel. Leaning over Starsky’s back, he spoke softly. “For this first time, Starsk, I’m going to take it nice and slow. It’s probably going to hurt, but I’ll do my best to help you through it. Try to relax as much as possible and let me do the rest.”

“Yes, Master,” Starsky managed through his nervousness. “You just used three contractions you know.” He quirked a smile and received a playful swat on the butt.

“Thank you, Slave.” Hutch smiled and Starsky reveled in it.

Starsky faced the other end of the sofa and waited. Hutch’s lubed fingers circled his anus before one was inserted. Instinctively, he tensed up. 

“It’s only my finger, Starsk. Lots more to come yet.”

“Yes, Master.”

Hutch pushed his finger in farther. A second one was added and Starsky was surprised that it wasn’t as bad as he had expected. A little uncomfortable but nothing else. Not nearly as awful as those sausage-fingered doctors in the Army. Suddenly, a digit rubbed against his prostate and his entire nervous system flared. ‘Oh God, that felt incredible!’ Hutch chuckled again. A third finger was added and the pressure and pleasure increased exponentially. 

“Are you ready, Davey?”

“Yes, Master,” Starsky replied, realizing it was true. “Yes, please, Master.”

Hutch removed his fingers, replacing them with the head of his throbbing cock. The stretching of Starsky’s sphincter muscle was agony for a second but then the glans was through and the entire sword was sliding into its sheath. Hutch’s flesh was huge and it filled his tunnel to exquisite bursting. Starsky pushed himself back, wanting that shaft, needing it deeper inside himself.

Hutch laughed again and obliged the unasked request by thrusting into Starsky with increasing tempo. 

Starsky moaned and Hutch’s cock continued to swell inside him, plunging faster and harder. He met each pulse with his butt as tightly and firmly against Hutch’s crotch as he could get it. 

Hutch cried Starsky’s name and flooded his semen deep into Starsky’s body. 

George brought them wet washcloths and dry towels. Falling to presentation position, Starsky cleaned his master’s genitals carefully and thoroughly, under George’s critical eye. 

Afterward, Hutch raised Starsky to his feet and did the same for him. 

“That would never be allowed, Master, Ken.” George hesitated before continuing in a softer tone. “However, it is acceptable, just this once.” There might have been approval in the old voice, but Starsky wasn’t sure. “I must warn you to beware though. You cried out your partner’s name.” 

Hutch was caught off guard. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Even in the throes of intense passion,” George reminded them, “you must never forget where you are and who is watching. And listening.” The gnome took the towels into the bathroom. 

Starsky leaned against his partner and rubbed his head on the shoulder. “It was good for me, sweetie.” He batted his eyelashes coquettishly. “Was it good for you, too?”

Hutch laughed out loud and caught him in an embrace which made Starsky flinch. Hutch immediately let him go, clearly realizing the pain he’d caused in nipple and cock rings. “Oh, God, Starsk, I’m so --”

Starsky hunched his shoulders and put a hand up to Hutch’s mouth. “No apology, Master. It was my fault. I tricked you into it. In fact…” he dropped to his knees, “I should probably be punished.” He looked up through his lashes. “Tonight?”

Hutch laughed again and drew him to his feet. “You are getting entirely too good at this, Slave.”

George came back in the room. “That’s enough instruction and practice for today.” He went to the lunch table and sat down. 

Hutch joined him and Starsky, walking only slightly stiffly and unsteadily, knelt at Hutch’s side. Hutch’s right hand rested on his head and Starsky wearily leaned against his master’s thigh.

George poured glasses of water for each of them and they drank them dry. “You’ve both done very well, so far, but I’m nothing if not a difficult trainer. I’ll expect you to practice your techniques at home every night. Tell each other what is pleasurable and make those things part of your repertoire. You must each appear confident when you are doing the other. You can’t allow anyone to suspect that you’re new to this. They would probably eat you alive. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Of course.” Hutch was smiling.

“Apply the salve to Dave’s welts several times a day, Ken. You want them visible, but not fresh looking when you present yourselves at the Cominetti enclave.”

“Holsten told us you were a slave there,” Hutch said. 

The old gnome’s face softened. “I’ve known Chris Cominetti all his life. When I saw you, day before yesterday, I had no doubt what this was about.” He put up his hand to forestall comment. “Please don’t worry, either of you. I have no love for the activities of many in the clan, they’re a bunch of crooks and I hope you bring them down.” He picked up his glass of water and drank. Starsky thought he saw sadness in the old man’s eyes. “I always liked Chris though. Was glad when he left and started traveling.” He looked at Hutch, forlornly. “Is he dead, then?”

“No, George. At least not yet. He’s at a clinic in Switzerland.”

“Ah. Is it HIV?” Hutch nodded. “I was afraid it would be something like that. I noticed, Master Ken, that you’re speaking more like him. Not using contractions, and your inflection’s almost perfect.” 

“Thank you, George.”

Their teacher stood up precipitously and headed for the bedroom. “Practice tonight, gentlemen, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He closed the door behind him.

“Permission to speak, Master?” 

“Granted.”

“You used a contraction again.”

“I did?”

“You said, ‘He’s in Switzerland,’ instead of ‘He is…’”

Hutch ruffled his hair with affection, leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, Davey.”

*******

That evening, in the conference room, Starsky and Hutch studied the initial photos and information, plus dozens of new images and cards. With the audio of the session running again in the background, Hutch turned to Holsten. “Why did you not tell us that George knows Chris as well as he does?”

“I didn’t think it was vital information,” the agent replied, no remorse in his tone. “If he told you himself, as he obviously has, that was his place.”

Starsky turned around. “Were they lovers?” 

“Yes,” Constantine confirmed.

“We’ve never been able to find out exactly what happened,” said Pickering, “and George has never told us. But we think they attended a session together and it went wrong.”

Constantine poured them each a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. They all took seats, Starsky a little gingerly. But at least he could sit.

“George was beaten and very nearly killed,” said the junior Interpol agent.

“His back and both legs were broken,” Holsten added. “The internal injuries were horrific. It’s only recently that he’s become mobile again.”

Starsky looked at Hutch, images of the gnome flashing through his mind. No wonder the poor guy was so stooped and bent.

“But you don’t know how it happened?” Starsky asked.

“Chris told his mother --” Holsten began.

“Remember,” Pickering broke in, “we have a source in the household, Angela’s nurse. What we know of Chris and his mother’s conversations, we’ve gotten from Maria.”

Starsky glanced at his partner and nodded; that made sense.

“Anyway,” Holsten went on, “Chris told his mother he thought he’d come under someone’s close scrutiny and disapproval. And in order to shake him up badly, George was hurt.”

“Whose scrutiny and disapproval?” Hutch asked.

“Chris never found out, for sure,” said Constantine. “But he knew he’d been deliberately distracted that night by a new attendee at the session.”

“Before Chris was lured into a separate room,” Holsten continued, “he was prevailed upon to share George with a few friends of the new member. Ordinarily, he would never have done such a thing but, in retrospect, he believed he’d been given some sort of drug that made him compliant.” 

Holsten took a swallow of coffee before resuming. “He told his mother that the encounter with the new member was much more twisted then he had anticipated and was definitely not to his taste. The fact that he hadn’t been able, effectively, to resist, convinced him he’d been drugged. When he fully regained his senses and went looking for George afterward, it took a long time to find him. The session had ended and almost everyone had gone. George was in the basement, nearly dead.”

“Chris made sure he got the best medical care,” Pickering continued, “and he’s set up a fund to cover his lover’s needs for the rest of his life.”

“Why did he leave Toronto?” Hutch looked at each agent. “Why wouldn’t he stay with George?”

“His mother died,” Holsten explained. “She’d been ill for years and not long before the attack on George, she took a turn for the worse. Maria believes what happened to Chris’ lover, and what that might have meant about Chris’ safety, is what caused Angela to give up. She told Maria that, if she were dead, Chris would have no reason to stay. Angela died two days later.”

“It tore Chris apart,” Constantine added. 

“But why leave?” Hutch clearly didn’t understand. “George was still there, still needed him.”

“We’re beginning to suspect from things we’ve learned the past two years,” Pickering said, “that Chris’ cousin, Melissa, was behind the attack on George.”

“The horse-face?” Starsky gestured over his shoulder to her photo.

“The very same,” the RCMP officer confirmed, with an ugly smile. “She’s been the coming power in the family for a few years. What she wants, she gets. What she doesn’t want, disappears.”

“We think Chris was so upset by the attack on George, then his mother’s death,” Pickering continued, “that he simply made sure his lover would always be taken care of, and he got outta Dodge.”

“His uncle, Augustino, is getting old,” Holsten went on. “Melissa is taking over more of the operation every year. She made no bones about the fact that she hated Chris and hoped he’d leave. We think she realized she’d never get away with having him killed, but she made his life as miserable as possible.”

“Why fight the inevitable?” Hutch shook his head. “When you can go away and travel the world?”

“Exactly,” Holsten agreed.

“How’s your training coming along, fellas?” Pickering asked, changing the subject and unmistakably curious. “Is George any good as a teacher?”

“He’s fantastic!” Starsky replied. “For an old guy.”

“He’s thirty-nine,” Constantine told them, in a subdued voice.

Starsky’s mouth dropped open and, when he looked at his partner, Hutch appeared equally nonplussed.

“That’s what two broken legs, a broken back, nine surgeries, and two and a half years of constant pain can do to you,” Holsten said.

Starsky and Hutch went quietly back to their studies.

*******

That night, at Starsky’s apartment, he did every position under Hutch’s careful tutelage and to his beaming satisfaction. Later, still in character, they ‘practiced.’ Starsky performed the waistband/zipper maneuver several times, better at each attempt. With Hutch’s cock exposed, he worked on his throat control and tongue techniques, bringing Hutch very nearly to orgasm several times before they mutually decided to end the evening reprising Hutch’s penetration skills. With all the lube Hutch insisted on using, Starsky barely felt any pain at all and the seed Hutch bestowed explosively inside him made him feel more powerful than he’d ever felt in his life.

*******

The next morning, though, Hutch was quieter than usual during showers, ointment applications, and breakfast. Starsky did his best to cajole his partner out of whatever funk he’d dived into, but to no avail. Oh well, he knew Hutch would tell him when he was ready. Starsky really had enough to think about anyway, not knowing what new piece of information or slave requirement George would throw at them that day.

Hutch made the drive to the hotel in silence and Starsky was willing to wait. 

The morning’s instruction went as well as it ever had. Taking presentation position in front of Hutch at George’s command, Starsky kept his eyes down. Hutch was wearing a pair of tight faded jeans and Starsky was nervous about being able to do the zipper pull. But, hell, they’d never know what pair of trousers Hutch might have on when the activity was required, so he had to be proficient at all different kinds.

“Do we ever kiss?” Hutch’s question came out of the blue. 

Starsky tensed immediately, remembering to keep his mouth shut and his eyes lowered, cheating only slightly through his lashes. Where in the world had that question come from? He and Hutch had walked on eggshells around each other since admitting they were falling in love. He’d imagined what it would be like to kiss his partner but he hadn’t come close to trying to find out. There was so much new between them already, he figured that tantalizing subject could wait. Until after they were safely out of the Cominetti compound, if necessary. 

“Never!” George warned, in no uncertain terms. “Kissing is an extremely intimate activity.” He appeared to consider his words and had the decency to blush a little. “I realize that sounds ridiculous under the circumstances. But kissing, Master Ken, is never approved of between a master and slave.”

“Why not?” 

George limped the length of the room and back. “Kissing means caring and you must never be seen to care too much for your slave, Master Ken. He is your property, remember. You would be providing your enemy with a weapon.”

“But --” Hutch persisted.

“You both have more than enough to think about, practice, remember, and become familiar with,” George declared, harshly, “if you have any hope at all of bringing the Cominetti family down.” He took a breath and Starsky cheated a fuller look at the old man who was plainly wrestling with demons of his own. 

George went on in a softer tone. “I know you two care for each other, Ken, but if you show too much concern or affection for Dave, there are members of the clan who will use those emotions against you. My advice is to concentrate on what you’ve learned and not be distracted by other thoughts. Or possible activities.” He stalked to Starsky and roughly pushed his head down. “If you are caught doing that, Slave, you will be punished!”

Starsky closed his eyes and tensed, expecting to hear that lashes were required. Instead, George’s footsteps retreated. 

“You must never underestimate Melissa,” George said. “And I think it’s time I gave you both as much information as I can. Look at me, Slave!”

Surprised, Starsky raised his head. George was actually smiling when he gestured toward the lunch table. “Join me, please, both of you.”

Starsky got to his feet as gracefully as he’d ever managed. He waited until Hutch was moving toward the table and followed a pace behind. When Hutch was seated, Starsky went to his knees beside him. Before he lowered his eyes, he noticed that George was unmistakably pleased.

“You have permission to look at me, Dave,” said George, kindly. “I have much to tell you and Ken, and I don’t want you straining your eyes by looking up through those outrageous lashes.” George grinned and Starsky blushed.

“I’m sure Agent Holsten has given you all the information they have on Melissa, but that’s only data. What you must understand is that she will allow nothing, and no one, to stand between her and what she wants.” He poured himself a glass of water and passed the pitcher to Hutch.

Pouring two glasses, Hutch handed one to Starsky. Starsky drank every drop and put the glass on the floor next to his knees, watching the old man’s face and eyes intently. George was plainly delving into memories that were painful to him but important to Starsky and Hutch.

“I’m convinced that Melissa is the one who had me nearly killed.” George sounded almost emotionless. “Chris was already upset by his mother’s condition. She had urged him to attend that evening’s session, saying he still had a life and needed to live it. Against his better judgment, we’d gone. I’m sure Melissa thought my death, or severe injury, would send him over the edge. She wanted him out of the way and hoped by doing what was done to me, she’d achieve her purpose.” He drank the rest of his water. “As you know, it worked.” George leveled his gaze at Hutch, then turned it on Starsky. “Chris has the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. He blamed himself for my injuries, knew I was hurt because of him.”

“I would feel that way, too,” Hutch said.

“Of course you would,” George agreed, gently. “Working with you has convinced me that you and Chris _are_ brothers.”

Starsky looked up at Hutch and saw gratitude in his eyes. Hutch really did want this sibling he’d never known existed.

“But Melissa’s not the only one you need to be aware of,” George continued. “She was grooming Marvin Delgetti to be her chief lieutenant and enforcer. I have no idea how powerful he may have become but you must never relax your vigilance!” He moved his intense gaze to Starsky. “Either of you! Be watchful at all times, and aware of everything and everyone. You, Dave, may be Ken’s best weapon, as you’ll be able to study body language and listen to the tones of voices, not just the words. People will be aware if you offend anyone but, otherwise, you’ll be free to watch and listen closely, as you will, essentially, be invisible.”

Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder and he leaned against his master’s thigh. _We’ll get through this, partner. We will._

*******

Ten more days and nights were devoted to instruction, study and practice. In the middle of that time, they were given a weekend off because Holsten decided they both needed sleep and Starsky still had healing to do. His ring wounds were coming along well and it was usually only his nipples that still caused him occasional pain. 

Hutch kissed, sucked and laved them as often as privacy allowed, ostensibly excusing the action with, “Saliva has healing properties, you know.” 

Starsky suspected his partner knew he was exaggerating a little of the discomfort just to have Hutch’s exquisite attention paid to them. Hutch hid his smiles; of course he knew. 

Starsky felt a little guilty about taking two whole days off, so he didn’t say a word when Hutch suggested they go to the station by themselves and study. They probably got more memorized during those two evenings than at all other times when the agents were there.

*******

One evening, at the beginning of the fourth week, when they finally got to Hutch’s place, after an especially long study session, a delivery truck was waiting for them. Boxes and garment bags were unloaded into the apartment. 

After the delivery guys had left, they opened the parcels and found an entire wardrobe of clothes and the luggage to go with it, fit for a wealthy world traveler. Someone had thought to paste numerous exotic-location stickers and decals all over the somewhat scuffed suitcases. Starsky had never even heard of a few of the locations.

Labels in the clothing identified designers Starsky had only read about and mostly couldn’t pronounce. 

Starsky would only be taking a few outfits of his own better clothes since he would rarely be wearing anything. That thought still made him shudder. 

Hutch put on a pair of linen trousers and the wide white leather belt the tailor had included to go with them. However, after several failed belt-removal attempts with these stiff, intractable items, Starsky suggested that Hutch change to a pair of cords, with his own belt that Starsky had learned to manipulate. These worked much better and they began evolving and practicing a maneuver they hoped would garner the approval of an exacting crowd. 

*******

Holsten presented them with a velvet pouch one night toward the end of their fifth week of preparation. Hutch raised his eyebrows but the Interpol agent said nothing. With Starsky watching closely, Hutch opened the sack and dumped the contents into his large palm. Gold chains glowed richly and something sparkled. 

Jolts of sensation coursed through Starsky’s nipples and cock at the sight of the jewelry he knew he’d be wearing. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sparkling blue gem in the center. “Is that what I think it is?” 

“If you recognize a blue diamond, Detective,” Holsten replied, “then you are correct.” 

“I thought the Hope was the only blue,” Starsky said.

“It is the best known.” Holsten offered him a small smile. “But not the ‘only’.”

“This has to be worth a fortune!” Hutch guessed.

“Not quite,” said Constantine, amused. “But we’d really like to have all that back, when the operation’s over.”

Carefully, Hutch returned the items to their purse and slipped it into his pocket. He leaned and spoke into Starsky’s ear, so softly no one else in the room was privy to the words. “You will look fantastic, Davey.” 

Starsky strangled his rising pulse rate. These turkeys didn’t need to know how much he wanted Hutch to hang those things on him right then! 

Hutch turned to the agents, flawlessly back to the business at hand. “Has anyone told the Cominetti family we will be there next Monday?”

“We thought we should wait until the weekend,” Holsten said.

Hutch swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything you think will make them receptive,” said Constantine. “You’re sick of traveling. You’re tired of the scenery. You miss your cousins.”

“You might tell your uncle that you’re bringing your intended home to meet the family,” Pickering offered, with a good natured grin. “I understand the old man was always pretty open minded.”

Starsky didn’t think that was such a great idea but Hutch seemed to be considering it.

“One of our agents had a meeting with Maria the other day,” Holsten told them. “She’s going to tell Augustino that someone special will be calling on Sunday.”

“How is she supposed to know that?” Hutch asked.

“Chris and Maria were always close,” Pickering explained. “It would be natural for him to contact her first, sound her out about whether or not he could hope for a positive reaction from his uncle. Whether or not he’d be welcome to come home.”

“We have the number of the Don’s private line,” Constantine assured Hutch. “No one else will answer the phone. You’ll only have to speak to him.”

“Only,” Hutch repeated. Starsky sent all the support he could toward his concerned partner and Hutch smiled in obvious gratitude. “I guess that will be my first performance.”

*******

They saw George for one last instruction session. He gave them both high passing grades and told them not to embarrass him. Starsky dropped to obeisance position and kissed his shoes. George laughed and lifted him up. Then he did something Starsky could never have anticipated. Standing on his tiptoes, and pulling Starsky’s head down a little, George kissed him. On the mouth. Delicately but firmly. 

He kissed Hutch the same way. “I love Chris, you know. I thought I’d lost him. Somehow, training both of you has brought him back to me. Thank you.” He turned and hurried into his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

*******

That night, after their showers, Starsky headed for the bed but sensed Hutch looking at him. Turning around, he caught the most complicated expression in his best friend’s eyes he thought he’d ever seen. “What?” 

“I need to ask you something, Starsk.” Hutch was all seriousness. “And I can’t do it when I’m being Chris.”

Starsky nodded, unsure. “Okay.”

Hutch continued to stare at him, his gaze losing its uncertainty and turning soft. “Have you looked at your body since you were pierced?”

Starsky was shocked, what a question, of course he’d… well, no. Maybe not. Maybe he’d avoided… His heart began to beat faster.

Hutch walked to him, put his large, gentle hands on Starsky’s shoulders and turned him to face the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Standing behind him, his hands now on Starsky’s waist, Hutch stared into the mirror over Starsky’s shoulder. “I never thought about it before…” Hutch’s soft words stirred the curls near Starsky’s left ear, sending shivers up and down his spine. “But rings should be important.”

Starsky stared at his naked reflection, his partner’s mirrored eyes boring into his own, threatening to melt the glass. Three circles glowed in the ambient light, the gold throwing a soft glow around when he breathed. “I guess…” 

“I gave one to Van. She gave one to me. But they didn’t mean anything.” Hutch turned Starsky around. He lightly touched the ring in Starsky’s left nipple, bent and kissed it. “These mean everything.”

“Hutch --”

“I’m serious, Starsk. I realized a minute ago that you never look at them. But I do. You took these, voluntarily, went through agony…”

Starsky opened his mouth to protest and Hutch put two fingers across his lips. 

“I felt the pain, too, partner.”

“I know you did.” Starsky shuddered. “I should’ve made you stay in the waiting room.”

“Wouldn’t have let you. You did it for me.” Hutch stepped back and looked at each of the individual decorations, lingering on the large, heavy cock ring. “You did all of it for me.”

“Not just you, Hutch.” Starsky moved to the bed. “I’d have been a basket case if I’d let you go up there alone.” He shook his head firmly. “Couldn’t do it, babe.” He sat on the bed and absent mindedly fingered the object hanging off the end of his penis. “Where you go, I go. Whatever it takes.” He looked up at Hutch, who hadn’t moved. “You know that.”

Hutch sat down on the bed beside him. “I know.” He put his right arm around Starsky’s shoulders and pulled him close. “You’re my knight in shining armor, Starsk. You always have been. I just never really thought about it before.”

“Aw, come on, Blondie.” Starsky half-heartedly tried to pull away. 

Hutch drew him closer. “You ride to my rescue, literally. You’re always there with whatever I need, whenever I need it, no matter what. You watch over me. You cover for me when I screw up. You’re my protector.”

“I never --” 

Hutch stopped him again with fingers against his mouth. “Sir Knight.”

Starsky punched him playfully. “Does this mean I have to call you my liege, or prince? Or something?” His voice choked and he couldn’t quite pull off the nonchalance he was trying for. 

Hutch laughed lightly and gently pushed him away. “‘Master’ will do for now.” He got up, reached for the covers and crawled under them. He held his arms out and Starsky willingly snuggled into them.


	4. Chapter 4

Starsky and Hutch flew to Toronto on Monday. The tickets were non-stop and first class, of course. Starsky thoroughly enjoyed the champagne, great food, in-flight movie - which he slept through - and the quiet attention of two pretty flight attendants. Hutch said almost nothing during the nearly five hours. He stared out the window, clearly thinking Hutch thoughts.

“He sounded glad to hear from you, right?” Starsky asked, for what was probably the sixth time.

Hutch put a hand on his knee and squeezed gently. Starsky patted the hand and shut up.

A limousine was waiting for them outside Customs. The driver, a tall black man elegantly dressed in full livery, wasn’t holding a sign or anything. He recognized ‘Chris’ immediately, hurried forward and, with the help of an airport skycap, loaded all the suitcases into the trunk of the stretch Lincoln. 

The chauffeur opened the passenger side rear door for Hutch, who folded himself onto the luxurious back seat. Starsky got in and the door was quietly closed. The driver ran around to the front, wedged himself behind the wheel, started the quiet, powerful engine and pulled out into traffic.

“Welcome back, Mr. Chris.” The man beamed at Hutch in his rear view mirror.

“Glad to be back, Milton.” Hutch smiled in return. Holsten’s research and information had been meticulous and thorough, and Hutch’s memory had always been close to eidetic.

They made the long drive in silence, Starsky staring out the window at the passing Canadian scenery he never thought he’d see. They drove fifty miles north and east, arriving at last at the massive gates of the estate. As they approached, the two sides swung inward soundlessly and the two guards in the large gatehouse waved at Milton, who threw a return salute. 

It took twenty minutes to reach the house. Starsky gaped. Holsten had provided aerial shots of the extensive grounds and buildings but pictures couldn’t begin to convey the scope of the place, or the massive scale. ‘House’ couldn’t be the right word. Mansion? Manor? Estate? He hoped there were maps on the backs of the doors.

A tall, imposing majordomo-type appeared and ushered them into the East Wing. “Your room is exactly as you left it, Mr. Christopher. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Ellis,” Hutch said. “You are looking well.” The man smiled and nodded, while leading the way. “How is Martha?”

“She is excellent well, Mr. Christopher, thank you for asking.”

Hutch put out a hand and stopped the striding figure. “Call me Chris, please, Ellis. Just Chris.”

The majordomo appeared flustered. “Yes, Mr… Uh, Chris.” He half-bowed. “I’ll try, sir.”

Hutch laughed. “That is all any of us can ever do.” Only Starsky heard the strain under the joviality. 

Ellis walked beside Hutch for what felt like a quarter of a mile, Starsky a pace behind and slightly to the right. Servants, guiding luggage racks, trailed. Stopping at last at a wide, wooden door on the right near the end of the corridor, Ellis turned the knob and pushed open the door, gesturing Hutch inside. 

Ellis waited, deferentially, until Starsky had entered before following them. While the porters wheeled in the carts, Ellis pulled heavy drapes back and opened several windows. Crisp, clear air flowed in.

“Thank you, Ellis. We will do our own unpacking.” Hutch shed his jacket, appearing weary. “I think we,” he looked at Starsky, “would like to rest for a while, before we present ourselves to Uncle.”

Ellis ushered the porters out. “I understand completely, Mr. C… uh, Chris. Drinks are at five, as always. Shall I inform the Don that you’ll join him then?”

Hutch glanced at his watch. “That would be perfect.”

Slaves don’t wear watches so Starsky remained rigid, as he had since entering the room. 

The majordomo closed the door behind him. 

Starsky went immediately to a suitcase and removed two portable-radio-like devices. He handed one to Hutch and together, they toured the room and bathroom, watching for readings on the ‘radio dial’. Finding none, Starsky set one on the nightstand and Hutch set the other on the table by the window. They turned them on, pre-set to an instrumentals-only Toronto music station.

Hutch exhaled slowly. Starsky went to him, gently pushing him backward so that he sat in a deeply cushioned wing chair. Kneeling, Starsky removed Hutch’s shoes. “Should I lock the door, Master?”

“There are no locks anywhere in the house.” Hutch waved a hand as if it made no difference. “Pickering told me one night when you were in the men’s room and I forgot to mention it. According to Maria, the family has always considered the concept of locks to be insulting. Theft would be unheard of, therefore, locking one’s door would be an affront.”

“When in Rome…” Starsky muttered, setting the shoes aside. “Where did we pack your slippers, Master? Do you remember?”

Hutch put his hands on Starsky’s shoulders. “Davey?” 

Starsky kept his head bowed. “Yes, Master?”

“Look at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Starsky raised his head and looked into the confident gaze of his best friend. 

“So far, so good, partner.” Hutch smiled and the butterflies in Starsky’s stomach settled. “Now, about my slippers --” 

There was a knock at the door. 

Motioning for Starsky to stay where he was, Hutch got up and padded, in his stocking feet, across the room. Starsky shifted around, still on his knees, until he could see Hutch through his lashes, and the door.

Hutch opened it to reveal Don Augustino Cominetti. 

The old man was far more imposing than any photograph or information card could convey: well over six feet tall with thick, wavy nearly-white hair worn long and back from his high forehead. He had piercing gray eyes and a full mouth. His cheeks were somewhat sunken though, and his suit hung on him. He didn’t look as hale and hearty as he had in the images they’d studied. He appeared to be, if not actually sick, at least unwell. He stared at Hutch, and Starsky was suddenly uncomfortable. What if the wily old goat knew this wasn’t his nephew? Starsky held his breath and prepared to defend Hutch, to the death, if necessary.

“Ellis tells me you and your friend are weary, Chris.” The Don’s voice, when he spoke at last, was deep and authoritative, as Starsky would have expected. The inspection seemed to have satisfied him and Starsky allowed himself to breathe again.

“We are a bit, Uncle.”

“Understandable.” 

Starsky kept his eyes lowered but sensed the intense look directed his way. He did his best to appear calm.

“Would you like to come in, sir?” Hutch stepped back a pace, opening the door wider. Through his lashes, Starsky saw Hutch wave his arm in a welcoming gesture.

“No, not right now. Ellis said you were going to rest.” The Don’s voice softened. “I only wanted to let you know that we’ll be having a small dinner party this evening, family and a few guests. The real celebration won’t be ‘til tomorrow night but I wanted to give you this welcome tonight.” The Don looked at Starsky again. “I hope you and your… slave…?” A quaver came into his tone. “That’s what you said on the phone, isn’t it, Chris? This man is your slave?”

“That is correct, Uncle.” Hutch’s tone was reasonable and measured.

“This isn’t only during your… sessions then? It’s all the time?”

“It is. Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no…” Augustino said quickly, “there are many other slaves in the house, as you know… it’s just that… after George, I thought --”

“Because,” Hutch interrupted softly, “if it does, or if anyone else in the family objects to his presence, we can leave.” Hutch walked to the wing back chair and sat down. His right hand fell gently onto Starsky’s head, the fingers twining possessively in his hair. “I did not come home with the intention of offending people.”

“No, of course not,” the Don huffed. “I’m not offended, Chris. And no one else will be, either. I’ll see to that.”

“Thank you.” 

“Well, then…” the cheer in the Don’s voice sounded only slightly forced, “we’ll see you both at five, for drinks. None of us will be uncomfortable and I hope neither of you will, either.”

Hutch caressed the back of Starsky’s neck. “We will manage, Uncle.” He stood up and strode to the door. “Thank you for your welcome. We will present ourselves at five. The courtyard, I assume? Since the weather is fine.”

“Yes, of course.” Don Cominetti backed out of the entry. “Until then.” 

Closing the door, Hutch walked to Starsky and lifted him to his feet. He was led to the acre-sized bed where Hutch undressed him slowly. “How do the rings feel?”

“They still hurt sometimes, Master.” Hutch was trembling slightly and Starsky couldn’t tell if it was from weariness, stress, or passion.

“I’m so sorry, Sta... Slave.”

“Don’t say that, Master,” Starsky pleaded. “This was my decision.”

Hutch kissed Starsky’s left nipple hard and a lance of pain shot through him. Involuntarily, he stiffened and sucked in a breath. Instead of pulling away and apologizing, Hutch sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped his arms around Starsky’s waist. He pulled him down slightly so that he could press his mouth more firmly to the sensitive nub. Definitely not weariness or stress, Starsky realized, but erupting passion!

Hutch tongued and sucked the nipple, working the ring ruthlessly around through the hole with his lips. This was different from any of the times Hutch had paid attention to the piercings before. This was intense and… excruciating!

Starsky gasped through the agony and, unbelievably, it flared into something else. His heart began to beat wildly and he grabbed Hutch’s head, pressing it more firmly to his breast. “Jesus,” he breathed. His cock jumped and Hutch’s fist closed around it, jostling that ring, too. Another jolt coursed through his entire body and, to Starsky’s utter surprise, it wasn’t really pain, it was… 

Hutch slipped off the bed and knelt, kissed the cock ring, licking and turning it. Starsky buried his fists in his lover’s silky hair. “Oh, God, Hutch…. Master!”

*******

Neither Starsky nor Hutch rested. They unpacked and showered. Hutch was solicitous of the ring wounds after his earlier ‘assault,’ licking and sucking gently. When they had finished toweling each other dry, Hutch applied ointment to all three sites.

Starsky helped his master dress in a cream colored linen suit, stark white shirt and white aviator’s scarf. It was an outfit nearly identical to the first photo they’d seen of Chris in the eastern market. Starsky wished he had his camera. ‘Hutch and Chris might be half brothers,’ he thought, ‘but my Hutch is better looking, and carries the clothes as they were intended.’

Hutch reverently clothed Starsky in the collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, one at a time. “I have been thinking about it,” he said, after the initial wrist cuff was in place, “and I believe these should not be removed now, except when we shower, until we leave this place, Davey.”

Starsky had been thinking about it, too. “Yes, Master. We must be in character at all times.”

“Thank you, Slave.” Hutch had tears in his voice and it made Starsky’s heart ache. “I truly could not do this without you.”

“That’s why you don’t have to, Master.”

Hutch snapped the leash’s lead to the ring in the front of Starsky’s collar. He held the loop end lightly in his right hand. “Come then. Let us go and rattle my family’s cages.”

Starsky followed his partner out the door, closing it behind them. He walked, head bowed, a pace behind and to the right of Hutch, careful to keep slack in the leash, through the extensive hallways and open areas of the mansion. Without a single wrong turn, Hutch guided them to the larger-than-football-field-sized courtyard. It was located behind the main section of the manse, enclosed on three sides, open only at the very far end. There was rolling countryside beyond, according to the photos Starsky had studied.

Hutch stopped on the landing outside the huge ten-foot-tall glass doors, presumably surveying the situation. Starsky lifted his head a tiny bit, so that he could see through his lashes and nearly lost his nerve. Hutch must have sensed his sudden anxiety because he took up the slack in the leash and gave a gentle tug. 

Starsky was immediately back in control and could actually look, with objectivity, at the view. Two football fields, side by side, could have fit in the space. It was paved with huge flagstones, laid carefully so that no one would ever trip. Polished to a sheen, the floor gleamed in the day’s last sunlight. It was warm enough that people were in shirtsleeves and Starsky, naked, was as comfortable as circumstances allowed.

Tables were everywhere, surrounded by chairs. The place must have been able to seat a thousand people, Starsky guessed. Tonight, there might have been only two or three hundred. He gulped and his knees felt weak. Two hundred people staring at his naked body. Another light tug on the leash grounded him again. He noticed nude figures scattered throughout the company, standing and kneeling. At least his wouldn’t be the only rings on display.

Hutch walked down the three steps with Starsky close behind. Dozens of people crowded around, shaking his hand, patting him on the shoulders and back. Several women hugged him. Starsky remained one pace back and to the side, eyes downcast. It was not yet time for presentation position, he was simply a statue. On the end of a slack leash.

Hutch managed to call as many by name as possible, the others he brushed off with simply ‘cousin.’ No one appeared offended; most seemed genuinely pleased to see him. They made a slow progression throw the assembly.

“Cousin Chris!” 

Hutch turned when a large, muscular, ruddy-cheeked, red haired man rose from his table and beckoned. Cheating a glance, Starsky’s impression was that the man looked uncomfortable and wondered if it was because he’d been stuffed into a suit two sizes too small, or because he didn’t like Chris. Much less Chris with a companion like the one tagging along at his heels.

“Cousin Marv.” Hutch’s response was guarded. 

Marvin Delgetti. Starsky remembered that this was one of the ones George had specifically warned them about.

Hutch walked to Marv’s table. The man pulled a chair out and raised his hand to a passing waiter. “What’re you drinkin’, Cousin?” He threw the question at Hutch in a surly tone.

“Tonic water, thanks. With a twist.”

Delgetti sniffed, doing nothing to hide his disgust. “Bring the man a whiskey,” he told the servant.

Hutch quickly but lightly caught the young man’s arm. “Tonic water,” he repeated. “With a twist. Please.” He sat in the proffered chair.

“Well, bring me another whiskey,” Delgetti snarled.

The servant hurried away. 

Starsky knelt gracefully at Hutch’s right side in modified presentation position. He could sense people gathering around, either taking seats at nearby tables, or simply standing and openly listening. He could also feel their stares as they probably tried to sort through their feelings about this naked, heavily scarred, ringed man kneeling next to Don Augustino’s favorite nephew.

“Never did drink like a man, did you, Chris?” Marv snorted.

“I suppose that would depend on your definition of a drink, Marvin.” Hutch gracefully crossed his knees, lightly stroking Starsky’s leash. “Or a man.”

Starsky continued to watch Delgetti covertly. He seemed to know he’d been bested in the opening exchange and be thinking about how to regain control of the conversation. ‘Thinking isn’t your strong suit is it, Marv?’ Starsky silently asked the glowering man.

“So…” Marv said, loudly, jovially, quite clearly playing to the crowd now. “Where’d you get ‘im?” Starsky saw a rude gesture made toward himself.

The waiter appeared, placed a tall, frosted glass in front of Hutch and Marv’s drink by his hand, before stepping back a pace and joining the arc of listeners. 

Hutch casually laid the leash across his lap, took the lemon slice and squeezed it into the icy liquid. Carefully wiping his fingers on a napkin, he lifted the glass and turned to Starsky. Cupping Starsky’s chin in his right palm, he offered the rim of the glass and held it as Starsky drank deeply.

The gasps that ran through the crowd almost sounded faked but Starsky thought they weren’t. These people were shocked. Even those who might have had slaves themselves were probably stunned at the way Hutch was treating him as anything but chattel.

When Starsky had drunk half the glassful, Hutch sat up and finished the rest. He put his mouth over exactly the same spot that Starsky’s lips had touched. More gasps, sounding outraged this time. Hutch turned to the waiter and, with a gesture, requested a refill. The waiter disappeared into the crowd. “I bought him.” Hutch answered Delgetti’s question in a neutral tone of voice.

“You _bought_ your slave?”

“I did.”

“Never heard of such a thing!” Marv swallowed most of his original drink. “Traded. Borrowed. Even stolen, of course. Never bought. Not in this family anyway.” Starsky knew he was being stared at again, very critically. “Where’d you get ‘im. Looks like he was rode hard and put away wet.” 

“Been reading cowboy novels again, Marv?” Hutch allowed scorn to color his words, and ignored his cousin’s offended huff. “For your information, I found him in an eastern European city, which shall remain nameless. He was the property of a rather skilled but twisted surgeon.”

The waiter reappeared with a taller glass, sporting two slices of lemon. Hutch nodded his thanks, squeezed the lemon into the drink, and took several swallows. He held the glass down so that Starsky could take a few more. Placing the glass back on the table, Hutch looked at Delgetti. “This supposed physician was fond of shooting his slaves and then practicing his medical talents to keep them alive.”

Starsky noticed feet move nervously and heard people muttering. Somehow, the story he and Hutch, plus the agents, had come up with to explain his numerous scars, sounded more dire in these surroundings than they had in the conference room.

Apparently without thought, Hutch draped his right arm across Starsky’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his leg. Running his fingers unconcernedly down over Starsky’s chest and through the thick hair, he gently traced one of the scars. 

This time the gasps sounded more like sighs. Starsky simply reveled in his partner’s touch.

“Davey,” Hutch continued, as if only Marv was listening, “had recently been brought back from the brink of death.” His hand moved to the back of Starsky’s neck and kneaded the tight cords before ruffling his hair. He offered Starsky another drink. “I cultivated the friendship of this doctor and, when Davey regained his strength, I saw his unbroken spirit and righteous anger. I made a purchase offer which was accepted.”

“How much?” Marv growled.

Hutch laughed. “I actually could have had him for the proverbial song.” To Starsky, the levity sounded only slightly forced. “But I paid a great deal of money.”

“Why, for Pete’s sake?” Marv demanded. “If you could’ve had him for almost nothin’, why pay for ‘im?”

“Because,” Hutch’s tone was serious and calm, “I wanted my slave, and the damn saw-bones, to know how much I value him.”

Marv sat back and drank his whiskey. “I always thought you were crazy, Chris. Now I’m sure of it.” He snorted and took another swallow. “Idiot,” he muttered into the glass, probably thinking nobody else could hear his coarse voice. “Never did care what the family thought, just went off and did your own thing.” He finished his drink, slammed the empty down and picked up the replacement. After he’d downed half the contents, he sneered at Hutch. “Did you at least try him out before you paid for him?”

“I did not.” Hutch drank his tonic.

“Then how’d you know he’d be a decent _fuck_?” 

“Intuition.” 

Delgetti started to say something, stopped, and started again. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.” He drank more whiskey. “And is he?”

“Is he what?” Hutch asked, placidly.

“ _A decent fuck!_ ” Marv must have realized he was being played, but didn’t know what to do about it. “Can’t you even follow what I’m sayin’, Chris?” 

Starsky knew the man was way out of his depth.

“I have no difficulty following, Cousin Marv.” Starsky heard the tight control Hutch was using to maintain his equanimity. “It is your total lack of the proprieties that offends.”

“Jus’ answer the question, ya pervert,” Delgetti slurred.

“Please ask it again,” said Hutch. “I managed to put it out of my mind.”

“Is he a decent _fuck_? How many times do I have to say it?”

“Oh, my slave is more than decent,” Hutch told the fuming cousin. “He is incredible. Plus…” he paused dramatically, “he is the best kisser I have ever known.”

Delgetti almost choked on the mouthful of liquor he was swallowing. “You kiss your slave?”

“At every opportunity,” Hutch replied, unruffled.

Starsky fought the blush he knew he was developing, wondering where Hutch was going with such statements. He was baiting the bastard.

“ _Why_?” 

“Because I enjoy it.” Hutch smiled, as if at some pleasant secret.

“This I gotta see!” Marv stood up, unsteadily, looking down at his seated ‘cousin.’ “Kiss ‘im then. Go on, Chris, right now. In front of all of us.” He looked around, playing to the continually growing crowd. “Show us why you paid money for ‘im!”

Starsky was close to panic. What was Hutch doing? They’d been so focused on getting the other stuff right, they did what George said and avoided kissing. They had practiced everything else but not that! 

Hutch slid his chair back and stood up. He turned, made a small gesture with his hand, and Starsky rose to his feet. Unclipping the leash, Hutch laid it on the table. He cupped Starsky’s chin and raised his head. “Look at me, Davey.”

Starsky had no option but to lift his eyes and meet the blazing blue ones of his partner. 

“Full body contact, Slave,” said his partner and best friend, whom he had never kissed on the mouth before. 

Hutch put his hands on either side of Starsky’s face, bent his head ever so slightly and touched his lips to Starsky’s. They were so soft and gentle Starsky melted into them. He snaked his arms around Hutch’s waist as his partner drew him closer. ‘Oh, yeah, this is what a kiss is supposed to feel like.’ 

Hutch pressed his mouth more firmly to Starsky’s and his lips teased and forced Starsky’s apart. Hutch’s tongue entered his mouth, his met it and a gentle wrestling match began. Starsky was utterly lost. He leaned against Hutch’s chest. His partner’s arms dropped to his back and the loved hands gripped his ass cheeks. Jabs of pain shot through him from nipple rings and still-tender butt welts, but he didn’t care! Maybe it wasn’t really pain, maybe it was the plateau of pleasure where pain was conquered. Whatever it was, Starsky decided right then and there, it was bliss! And he wanted more!

Without conscious thought, he wrapped his left leg around his master’s right and pressed his crotch against the swollen shaft inside Hutch’s trousers. His partner ground his groin against him and pulled him closer. Starsky’s cock ring sang a song of ecstasy and he soared with it. His tongue twined with Hutch’s, their teeth clashed. Hutch laughed into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, drowning it in his own moans, the ones he hoped only Hutch could hear.

After what felt like a very long time, but couldn’t have been more than a minute or so, because he hadn’t taken a breath that he could remember, and he hadn’t passed out yet, Hutch began to back the pressures on his body down and pull away a little. His partner patted his ass, put his hands on Starsky’s shoulders and broke the kiss. 

“Look at me, Davey.”

Starsky lowered his left leg and tried to stand steadily on his own two feet. It wasn’t easy and he was glad Hutch didn’t let go. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the most amazing sight he’d ever seen. The color of Hutch’s eyes could range from cornflower, blue bonnet, or sky blue when he was happy, to deep ocean stormy blue when he wasn’t. But Starsky had never seen them quite this color before. Where normally they appeared cool, even icy, now they radiated heat. Blue fire! The color at the base of a flame, where it’s nearly hottest. Right next to white-hot. Yes indeed, blue can be hot! Hutch’s eyes were right then. 

Slowly Starsky became aware that they were surrounded by sound. People were cheering and clapping, or yelling derision. It sounded like a hockey game might be about to break out. ‘Well, we’re in Canada, after all.’ 

When Hutch let go of his shoulders, he dropped gratefully into full presentation position. He didn’t think he could stand up any longer anyway, without support and he wouldn’t humiliate his partner that way. He hadn’t been prepared for that heart-altering kiss and felt boneless. He would need to recover quickly though, since some of the voices sounded angry. They were in potentially unfriendly territory. Who knew what might happen?

“Jesus.” Delgetti sounded short of breath. “I’ve never been kissed like that in my entire life.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hutch murmured for Starsky’s ears alone.

“Would you sell him?” Marv asked.

“Not for the world.” Hutch enunciated every word.

“Well…” Marv patently searched for an alternative but Starsky knew this guy wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. “Would you share him?”

Silence. Starsky didn’t dare look up. 

“Possibly,” Hutch replied. “You would have to make it worth my while, Cousin Marv, and I am not sure you could do that.”

Marv sat down and took a long drink. 

Hutch sat as well, drew Starsky to his thigh again and offered his glass. Starsky drank deeply, keeping his head high enough to see through his lashes. Hutch finished the last of the drink. Before another could be requested, the waiter was there with the replacement. 

“Might not be worth it anyway,” Marv decided, a mean tone edging into his ‘casual.’ “Unless… You say he’s a decent fuck?”

“I have already answered that question, Marvin. I never like to repeat myself.”

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Show us!” Another voice joined in, “Yeah, Chris, fuck ‘im!” “Come on, Cousin,” someone else yelled, “Fuck him!”

Hutch took a long drink and offered the glass again to Starsky, who drank. “Not now,” Hutch said, with finality. “Perhaps later.”

“When ‘later’?” Someone yelled. “Yeah! How soon, Chris?” “You can’t just say he’s a great fuck, Cousin, and not back it up.” “Show us!” “We wanna see for ourselves!” “Damn straight!” “Hey! I know,” another voice shouted, “Let’s have a session. Right now!” “Good idea! Round up all the slaves! We’ll --”

“I _said_... Not now!” The voice was Hutch’s but Starsky barely recognized it. The tone matched the blue-fire-eyes and it cut through all the shouted comments. Silence fell uneasily as Hutch stared around at the close faces, memorizing, Starsky knew, every person who was doing the inciting. 

Starsky was beginning to get concerned about the agitated mumblings that began again, when a large pair of highly polished shoes walked into his field of view and stopped next to Hutch’s chair. Starsky remembered the Don’s brogues. The undercurrent of voices ceased as Hutch got to his feet.

“Your Cousin Melissa has just informed me that she’s invited all the outside members of your former scene to the welcome home celebration tomorrow night, Nephew.” Don Augustino sounded as if he wasn’t especially happy about it but was trying to make the best of things. “She also reminded me that such occasions usually involve entertainment afterward. Therefore, she wanted me to ask if you would consent to a demonstration of your slave’s… talents… at that time?”

Starsky heard Hutch draw in a deep breath before he answered. “I will consider it, Uncle.”

“Thank you,” the Don said, humbly. The shoes disappeared among those of the surrounding spectators.

“Pass the word, folks!” Marv shouted to the crowd. “Showtime tomorrow night. Chris is gonna fuck his slave! He just promised Don Augustino!”

What Hutch was thinking Starsky really didn’t know. Bastards have backed him into a corner and he’s wondering if there’s any way out of it. Starsky couldn’t see one but maybe Hutch could. 

Still standing, Hutch pushed his chair back. Starsky could tell the smile on his face was forced, he’d bet no one else could though. Hutch turned slowly in a circle, looking at his audience, all of whom appeared eager for the next act in this little drama. “In the meantime…” his voice carried easily to every ear, “would anyone care to see another reason why I purchased my slave?”

Cheers and renewed applause greeted this question.

“Display position, Davey,” Hutch said, using his Master’s voice. 

Starsky rose fluidly to his feet and assumed the requested pose. He stood upright, hands behind his neck, fingers laced, elbows held out as widely and as far back as possible. He held his head up with his eyes lowered, chest out, back ramrod straight, feet shoulder width apart. His cock, still semi-hard from The Kiss, posed, as well.

Murmurs, a few grumbles, and sighs chased each other around the throng.

Hutch walked slowly around him and Starsky felt his master’s loving gaze touch every part of his body. “Is he not magnificent?”

Almost everyone cheered and called agreement.

“Except for all the scars,” someone close by muttered.

Hutch spun to the accuser, ice now in his eyes. “The scars are my slave’s battle ribbons!” If the words could have physically cut, the man would have been bleeding. “He has survived much, Cousin Arthur. I wonder if you would have been able to do the same.”

Starsky found the full name in his mental catalog; Arthur Belvedere. His peripheral vision allowed him to see the man hunch his shoulders, probably sorry he’d spoken. Some titters added to his obvious embarrassment. 

Hutch began to walk around Starsky again, speaking as he visually caressed the rigid body. “I see each of his scars as a testament to his courage, his resilience, his unbowed spirit. To me, he is exquisitely handsome.”

Starsky had never thought of the evidence of his many injuries as anything but things to be hidden. Covered. Ashamed of. Suddenly, he had a different vision, one bestowed on him by his master. 

“However…” 

Uh oh, that tone of voice made Starsky shiver inside. 

“I do enjoy enhancing beauty whenever I can.” Pulling a delicate gold chain from his pocket, Hutch held it up by one end, turning so that everyone could see the light bouncing off the links. He stepped in front of Starsky and leaned close. “Deep breath, Sir Knight,” he whispered.

Starsky did as ordered and locked his body. 

Hutch fastened one end of the chain to the ring in his right nipple. It hurt but it wasn’t too bad. Hutch had never asked him to wear these before because the wounds had been too fresh. Now was the time and he was absolutely determined not to embarrass his master. When the other end of the chain was attached to the ring in his left nipple, he let the breath out. ‘Okay, that’s do-able.’

Most people applauded. They must have liked what they saw.

Hutch drew another chain out of his pocket, this one heavier and longer. A few people gasped. Starsky heard a woman say, “Oh, my.” 

Hutch bent and snapped one end of the heavier chain to the ring in Starsky’s cock. It bobbed and a few people laughed, probably releasing tension. Hutch caressed Starsky’s thigh, allowing the chain to hang off the large ring. Starsky had to draw in another deep breath. That much weight kinda hurt.

Moving behind Starsky, Hutch bent down, kissed a healed welt on the left buttock, reached between Starsky’s legs and brought the end of the chain through. Straightening up, he clipped it to a ring on the back of the collar. Starsky’s penis was now effectively, and quite gloriously, according to a few audible comments, locked in place. Idly, Starsky wondered how Hutch knew exactly what length to tell them to make that particular chain. They’d never practiced this. Intuition again?

Hutch walked back in front of him. “Can you take a little more, Davey?”

“Yes, Master.” Starsky managed to make his voice firm and loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Reaching into his pocket one more time, Hutch held up the glittering blue gem stone. He turned, letting everyone see the object, before carefully clipping the finding to the middle of the nipple chain. 

That little bit of added agony sent Starsky right to the edge of the pain-become-pleasure plateau. ‘Oh God, this is what they were talking about. I can _do_ this!’ 

Hutch put his hands gently on Starsky’s hips and turned him slowly, so that everyone in the crowd, some standing on chairs at the back Starsky noticed, could get a good look at the decorated slave. The cheers and applause were louder than before and it made Starsky so proud he thought he might burst.

The audible approval continued until Hutch had turned him one more complete revolution. Then, apparently knowing the show was over for now, people began going back to their tables and conversations. 

Hutch pulled his chair back to the table and sat down. “Modified presentation, Davey.”

Starsky dropped to the requested pose and was rewarded with the rest of the glass of tonic and lemon from his master’s hands.

“Can you wear them through dinner, Slave?” Hutch asked, concern in his voice.

“Yes, Master.” The way he felt right now, Starsky decided he might never want to take them off!

A pair of very pointy-toed black high heeled shoes came into Starsky’s field of view, on the far side of Hutch’s chair. Hutch rose to his feet.

“Would he kiss a woman the way he kisses you?” a cultured but harsh voice asked.

“You would have to ask him,” Hutch replied, casually.

“Me? Speak to a slave?” she sputtered. “You must be joking!”

“Something I rarely do, Cousin Melissa.” 

The dreaded Melissa. Raising his head slightly, Starsky peered through his lashes. She was wearing red, too tightly. Her make up and hairdo made him harbor terrible thoughts about her beautician. 

A pair of brown loafers, under tan, cuffed slacks came into view, to Melissa’s right. Starsky raised his head a little more and saw a young man standing in front of Hutch with a tray in his hands. Two cut glass punch cups rested in the middle. Melissa immediately reached for the one nearest her. The man held the tray toward Hutch.

“Won’t you join me in a toast, Cousin Chris?” Melissa cooed. “To your return to our family.”

Instead of taking the cup, Hutch reached to the table and lifted his glass of tonic. “I decline the punch, Melissa. But, if you would like to make the toast, perhaps your friend will join us?” He gestured toward the young man. “Take the cup, Cousin Carl.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. “Drink with us.”

The blood drained out of Carl Morton’s face and he began to tremble. The information Starsky had studied said the young man was one of Melissa’s sycophants and implied he had no spine. He was proving that lack in front of everyone, in Starsky’s opinion.

Fury contorted Melissa’s features. She dashed the tray from Morton’s hands, sending the cup flying, to shatter on the flagstones a few feet away.

The young man didn’t stay around, he turned and fled. 

Hutch put a hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “Get him, Davey.”

Starsky sprang up and chased the kid down before he’d gotten half way across the courtyard, waiters and guests scattering out of their path. When he hit him with a flying tackle, he did his best to stay on top of Morton’s body, so that as little of his bare flesh scraped along the flagstones as possible. Still, his left leg, from hip to mid-calf acquired some heavy road rash. Mercifully, the ankle cuff protected that joint. 

Scrambling to his feet, Starsky realized he’d never even felt the chains jerking on his rings, but he felt them now. The nipples were on fire. He checked to make sure he hadn’t lost the diamond, gritted his teeth and ignored the discomfort. He also paid no attention to the outraged stammering of his captive. He frog-marched the kid back to Hutch and Melissa. Letting go of the collar when Morton was standing again at Melissa’s side, he moved around to Hutch’s right and dropped into presentation.

“Your slave injured me,” Morton screamed. “I demand satisfaction!”

Hutch’s hand dropped onto Starsky’s head. “He followed my instructions, Cousin Carl,” Hutch said, loudly enough for all to hear. “I will not have my slave whipped for obeying an order.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Starsky saw Don Cominetti’s shoes appear. They stopped next to the loafers of the sputtering whiner. Starsky raised his head marginally; he simply had to see what was going to happen. Melissa fidgeted nervously, shifting from foot to foot and tapping her toe.

Hutch turned to the imposing Don. “If you agree to the demand for punishment, Uncle, Davey and I will leave. Immediately. And this time…” his voice hardened and his eyes went glacial. “I will not return.”

“No need for that, Nephew.” Don Augustino was patently trying to smooth the situation over. “I’m sure Melissa was only testing the waters.” He sent a glare toward his niece. “Weren’t you, my dear?”

Melissa set her jaw. “I never meant to harm him, Uncle. Not really. I only wanted him to leave. Go back wherever he came from! We don’t need him here.” She looked around at everyone watching and listening, catching the eyes, Starsky noticed, of several people who were nodding. He made a mental note of every face that was agreeing with her. “He’s been away for years.” Melissa’s tone and facial expression showed no remorse. “Let him stay away!” 

“I want him with me, Melissa,” the Don said, resolve in his stern voice. “Therefore, he stays.” Looking hopefully at Hutch, he added, “If he wishes.”

Hutch made no comment, he simply looked at Melissa.

Melissa took one step back and bowed her head. Her pretense made Starsky want to throw rotten vegetables onto the stage. The bitch wasn’t even a good actress. “Of course, Uncle.” 

“As for punishment…” Augustino raised his voice so that there could be no misunderstanding among the watchers. “Carl, here,” he put a hand firmly on the seething young man’s shoulder, “was following Melissa’s order. Your slave,” he motioned to Hutch, “was following your order.” He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I see no cause for retribution.”

Scattered applause greeted this pronouncement.

“My slave requires medical attention, Uncle,” said Hutch, quietly.

Starsky immediately lowered his eyes again. His scraped leg was beginning to ooze blood in a few places.

“Do you remember Doctor Dominic, Chris?” Cominetti asked.

“I do.”

“Do you trust him?” was the next question.

“As much as I trust anyone at the moment.” Hutch kept his tone neutral.

The Don laughed. “Well said, Nephew!” He gestured over his shoulder and two muscled, suited men, presumably body guards, appeared at his back. “Carter, Martini, escort Chris’ slave to the clinic.”

“I’ll meet you there,” a voice shouted from the back of the crowd. Starsky heard running footsteps.

The two guards stepped to Starsky’s sides and reached for his arms. 

“Davey stands…” Hutch stopped their movement with calm, firm words, “and walks on his own. He requires no assistance. He is not lame, nor crippled. He has been injured in my service and you will treat him with respect, please.” 

The guards stepped back. 

Hutch bent and raised Starsky’s face to his. “Allow the doctor to see to your wounds. Then return immediately to me.”

“Yes, Master.” Starsky rose as gracefully as possible. Not daring to lift his eyes and look at Hutch again, he turned toward the doors, half a field away. One guard stepped in front of him, the other walked behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Starsky heard murmurs of what sounded like approval as he and his escorts made their way out of the courtyard. Once inside the building, Starsky kept track of the turns and endless corridors leading to the clinic.

Dr. Claudio Dominic looked exactly like the photo Starsky had studied. He was in his sixties, about five feet ten inches tall, lean, with light brown hair and eyes. His face was pallid, as if he never ventured outside in daylight. But his expression was compassionate, his voice soft. “Sit on the table, please.” He gestured Starsky to the type of apparatus found in any upscale examination room. 

Starsky did as instructed. His leg was beginning to give him hell.

The guards left the room, remaining on either side of the open doorway. They stood at ease but Starsky knew they were completely alert and would hear everything that was said.

The doctor washed his hands thoroughly at the sink, went to a cabinet and filled a tray with supplies. Coming back, he glanced quickly over the scraped flesh of Starsky’s leg. “Lie down, please, Chris’ Slave.”

Starsky flinched once or twice during the doctor’s examination of the lengthy abrasion. A few areas were beginning to be downright painful. 

Over the next half hour, Dr. Dominic cleaned the affected area thoroughly. He painted the nearly-three-foot-long wound with Betadine, then sprayed it heavily with what Starsky thought was Solarcain. Again. 

The doctor must have noticed Starsky’s appraisal of the aerosol’s container because he laughed lightly. “No, it’s not Solarcain, although that is very good for sunburns.” He held the can up. “It’s something new I’m working on. It protects a superficial wound as well as a dressing, while allowing air through to heal. It also has mild anesthetic properties.” Starsky knew the doctor was studying him. “How does that feel?”

Remembering that he wasn’t allowed to meet the medic’s eyes, nor speak, Starsky nodded. Surprisingly, his leg did feel a lot better. 

“I’m not going to cover any of this,” the doctor went on. “It needs air. And none of the scrapes is deep enough to require additional procedures. Scabs should form within hours in most areas. Come back immediately though, if you notice any sign of redness.” He went back to the sink and washed his hands again. “Showers only for the next few days. And don’t use a cloth, that would be too abrasive.”

Starsky sat up on the edge of the bed, bending his knee up and down. He didn’t want the joint to stiffen.

The doctor came back, drying his hands. “I saw what happened, Chris’ Slave. It’s an honor to be allowed to help you.”

Starsky dropped his gaze, embarrassed to have broken protocol, yet again.

The doctor raised his chin and made him return his look. “You have spirit, as Chris said.” He let go and smiled. “See that you keep it.”

Starsky slid off the table and nodded deeply.

“Back to your master now.” The doctor waved him out of the room.

Starsky led the way this time, not willing to be escorted. The guards walked quietly behind. Once he got to the courtyard, Starsky threaded his way between the packed tables. More people had obviously arrived while he was gone; had to be over three hundred now. He noticed fewer naked kneelers, however. Making his unmolested way to Hutch’s side, he sank to modified presentation.

Hutch appeared quiet and serene but Starsky could feel the tension radiating off of him. As soon as he was by his master’s side, Hutch brought the refreshed glass of lemon tonic down, allowing him to drink deeply. After the glass was back on the table, Hutch lowered his right hand proprietarily to Starsky’s head and drew him close.

Marv had apparently continued drinking during Starsky’s absence. His voice was now slurred, his tone much more condescending, but aggressive. “Geez, everybody,” he shouted to the crowd. “The slave’s been gone for almost an hour.” He turned his sarcasm on Hutch. “Ain’t it time for another kiss?”

“Yeah,” several spectators shouted. “Kiss him, Chris!” “Kiss ‘im again.” “I heard about it but didn’t get to see it the first time.”

Feigning resignation, Hutch pushed his chair back and raised Starsky to his feet. “They may tire of this soon, Davey.” There was a smile in his voice. “In the meantime, we get to enjoy each other.” Hutch lifted Starsky’s chin and kissed him. 

This time, instinctively knowing Hutch didn’t mean for it to be a full body contact kiss, Starsky left his arms at his sides. Hutch raised his own hands to the sides of Starsky’s face and deepened the kiss. Tongues were evidently going to be allowed and his happily joined the gymnastics. Hutch’s hands caressed his back and butt cheeks, not grabbing this time, but massaging and fondling. It was a new and gentle sensation and Starsky fell into it completely. Arching his body forward, his nipples touched the silk shirt. 

Moans and sighs from the crowd insinuated themselves into his thoughts. ‘I’ll just bet you guys aren’t enjoying this half as much as I am. Eat your hearts out.’

When Hutch broke the kiss at last, Starsky dropped immediately to modified presentation, Hutch’s hands following him down. Impulsively, he reached up and caught the right hand before it could be withdrawn, and kissed it.

The crowd’s earlier approval turned to shock and disapproval with not only indrawn breaths, but shouts of outrage. “He had the nerve…!” “Kissed his hand without permission.” “That requires punishment!” “Whip him, Chris!” “Yeah, beat the impertinence out of him!” “Discipline, Chris. You need to exert some discipline.” Many in the crowd sounded as if they were no longer on Chris’ side, the tide having turned against them just that quickly.

Starsky knew he’s screwed up. He kept his head and eyes down, trying not to tremble. If Hutch couldn’t figure a way out of this, he may have ruined everything with one impetuous gesture. At the very least, he was sure he’d incurred a beating. At the worst, he’d jeopardized Hutch.

After listening to everyone’s opinions, advice, and near demands, Hutch must have raised a hand or made some other motion. Silence fell like a blanket. 

Starsky knew Hutch was looking at him but he didn’t raise his eyes.

“Unauthorized touch requires punishment, Slave.” Hutch’s voice was hard. Only Starsky heard the underlying strain and rigid control. “You know that.”

“Yes, Master.” Starsky kept a quaver out of his voice but just barely.

“Whip him, Chris!” someone shouted. “Thirty lashes, at least!”

Hutch probably held his hand up again, because no further incitement was forthcoming. “I never punish in anger,” he informed the crowd. “I will consider tonight and, with my slave’s input, give my decision tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna ask _him_?” Delgetti demanded. 

“It is his body I will damage, Cousin Marv,” said Hutch, firmly. “Should he not have some say in the matter?”

“Shit, Cousin,” Marv fumed. “Marry him, why doncha?” He sat down and guzzled his drink. 

People moved away, muttering. Some sounded mollified, a few voices were still angry.

Don Cominetti’s shoes came into Starsky’s field of view. “Dinner’s about to be served, Nephew.” The old man sounded tired. “Won’t you join me at my table?”

Hutch stood up. “I would be honored, sir.” He picked up the leash and snapped the lead onto Starsky’s collar. With Starsky walking the required pace behind and to the right, Hutch followed the elder Cominetti across the courtyard. 

The ballroom-size dining room they entered through floor-to-ceiling glass doors could have seated the same thousand people the courtyard might have held. That made sense, of course. Here, enough tables to seat three hundred were covered with linen cloths. Each table held a fresh flower arrangement, as well as all the dishes, utensils and accessories anyone could ever need in order to enjoy a sumptuous meal.

The Don led them to a central table for six. It was clear that the five people who ate with the Don, were honored guests. Don Cominetti took his seat, Melissa on his left, Carl Morton to her left. On Cominetti’s right sat Dr. Dominic, then Marvin Delgetti, and, finally, directly across from Augustino, Hutch. Starsky immediately knelt at Hutch’s right side.

Thankfully, to Starsky’s way of thinking, the table cloth didn’t drag the floor so he could see everyone’s feet. He’d be able to watch for telltale signs of nervousness. Best he could do, but he was determined to do it well.

Waiters and waitresses, two per table, materialized, beginning to serve the first course. When Hutch’s waiter approached, he seemed flustered. Hutch spoke to him softly, “My slave kneels on my right side. You may serve me from the left.”

“Thank you, sir.” The waiter sounded relieved.

“Hand his plates to me, please,” Hutch requested. “I will place them on the floor.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man bowed.

“The waiter’s new, Nephew,” Don Augustino explained. “He doesn’t serve any other tables with slaves. I apologize for his ineptitude.”

“No need, Uncle, He will be learn quickly, I am sure.” Starsky knew his master would never want to get the boy in trouble.

In Starsky’s opinion, the salad course was nothin’ to write home about. ‘What’s with Romaine anyway? Why not stick with good ol’ iceberg? And what are all those other things? Maybe I don’t wanna know.’ He ate a few leaves, mostly to keep Hutch from getting on his case, but his plate was still mostly green when the waiter stooped and picked it up. 

The sets of feet under the table were interesting. The Don kept his flat on the floor, close together. Once in a while, as if to make sure they were still there, he’d raise the toes of one shoe, then the other. The doctor’s feet were calm. Marv’s scuffed the floor under his chair but Starsky thought it was probably only a habit. Carl toed his loafers off and on, off and on. Nervous little snake. Melissa tapped her heels soundlessly, crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Another jittery one.

As soon as the soup dishes had been cleared, Melissa’s feet became more animated. They darted around almost of their own accord, twining around the legs of her chair and around themselves.

“I trust this evening’s… misunderstanding has been put behind us?” The Don was obviously referring to Melissa’s attempt to poison Hutch.

“What misunderstanding is that, Uncle?” Hutch, an innocent look on his face, took a sip of his fresh tonic.

“I’m willing to forget it if Chris is.” Melissa’s contrition wouldn’t have been considered sincere by anyone.

“Good!” said Cominetti, heartily. 

When the main course plates had been placed in front of each person, Melissa’s feet stilled, making Starsky wonder about the sudden change. Lifting his head slightly, he looked around the table from under his lashes. Melissa was watching the Don intently. Morton had his gaze fixed on his plate. Everyone else at the table seemed at ease, anticipating the roast lamb with mint jelly, garlic mashed potatoes and fresh Brussels spouts.

Possibly catching some undercurrent, the Don lowered his first forkful. “Nephew…” He looked directly at Hutch. “Although I am quite convinced that tonight’s incident was an isolated event, why don’t you and I exchange plates?”

Starsky could tell Hutch was startled. Melissa was definitely unsettled, and Morton stared at his food. The others at the table glanced around.

“Certainly, Uncle.”

Melissa’s knees jumped and her feet flew from one chair leg to the other. 

Two different waiters glided forward and changed the dishes. 

Starsky leaned as unobtrusively as possible against Hutch’s leg. His master bent down to him offering his glass of tonic. With the rim against his lips, and appearing to drink, Starsky whispered. “Don’t eat, Master.”

Hutch waited while Starsky drank the tonic. After, he sat up and drank some himself. Appearing to stifle a prodigious yawn, he set the glass down. “My sincere apologies, Uncle, but I am suddenly overcome with weariness.” He scanned the faces around the table. “Will you all excuse me, please?”

The Don must have been surprised but managed to cover it quickly. “Of course, Nephew. I know it’s been a long, probably taxing day.” He waved his hand. “Be off with you.”

Starsky noticed Melissa’s feet were again firmly, quietly on the floor.

Hutch pushed his chair back, picked up the end of the leash and waited while Starsky rose. 

“Shall I have the chef prepare plates for you and leave them in the warming oven?” the Don asked.

“Please do not bother, sir,” said Hutch. “If my slave and I feel peckish later, we will find something in the kitchen.” He smiled and everyone at the table, except Melissa and Morton, returned it. Leading Starsky on a slack leash Hutch walked to the courtyard doors standing open to the evening air. 

“Don’t forget tomorrow night, Chris,” Delgetti called, drunkenly. “We all expect to see a mind blowing fuck!”

Hutch stopped in the doorway and Starsky stood still. “Anticipation is a fine thing, Marv,” Hutch said. Then, undoubtedly knowing every eye in the room was on them, he put his hands on either side of Starsky’s face and kissed him. Compared to earlier examples, it wasn’t much. But it set Starsky’s blood racing again. 

“Thank you for your kind welcome, everyone. Good night.” Hutch led the way out of the dining hall. 

*******

Nothing was said during the long walk to their room. Once inside, the ‘radios’ were checked again and left on the instrumentals station. Starsky folded or hung up each item of clothing as Hutch took it off. Then Hutch unsnapped the heavy chain from Starsky’s cock ring and allowed it to hang from the back of the collar. He unlocked and opened the collar and each of the cuffs, placing them on the dresser. They were followed by the nipple chain and diamond. “I think you should not wear the jewelry tomorrow, Davey. Your rings are still too new for such extended abuse.”

“Please take them with you though, when we leave the room. The idea of theft may be offensive in this family but… I don’t trust ‘em. Master.”

“Probably with good cause. And besides…” Hutch smiled, knowingly, “you think you might like to have them on again at some point?”

Starsky dropped his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

Laughing, Hutch scooted him toward the bathroom. “Showers first, then practice. And we need to talk.”

“Yes, Master.”

When they were dry again, Hutch applied ointment to the ring holes. The butt welts no longer needed attention. “These all appear to be healing beautifully.”

Succumbing to a sudden need, Starsky dropped to his knees. “Please put my collar and cuffs back on, Master.”

“I thought you would enjoy the next hour or so without them.”

“I know it sounds weird but they’ve become part of me.” Starsky tried to explain. “I’m your slave while we’re here, Master. I need them on.”

Hutch kissed him lightly but firmly. “As you wish.” Ritualistically, he put each object, except the chains and gem, back in place. 

Starsky turned to face Hutch. “How did you know, Master?” 

“Know what?” Hutch was plainly confused.

“That the kisses would be like that? We’d practiced everything else, but George said we shouldn’t kiss. How did you know?”

Hutch’s face broke into the maddening know-it-all smile Starsky loved so much. “Intuition.” 

Starsky longed to kiss the smirk right off that gorgeous mouth but his partner turned solemn before he could initiate the move.

“I put you at risk tonight, Starsk.” He caressed Starsky’s cheek. “Please don’t correct me for a few minutes, I need to say something as myself.” He took Starsky’s hand and led him to the bed. 

They sat on the edge side by side, Hutch still holding Starsky’s hand and stroking the knuckles. “I know George told us about how Marv and others would look for weapons to use against us. But Delgetti made me so angry!” He looked at Starsky and the blue fire was there again, only for a different reason now. “He’s such an arrogant, ignorant ass. He kept asking and re-asking those stupid questions, trying to sound like he knew everything in the world, and I suddenly couldn’t resist goading him. I knew better. We’d been warned.” He raised Starsky’s hand and kissed the palm. “I risked everything, just to put him in his place.”

“Hutch --” 

Hutch quickly covered Starsky’s mouth with his. The kiss was soft, gentle and nothing at all like the incendiary activity of earlier. Starsky was more than content to melt into the contact. At last Hutch broke away, his fingers taking the place of his lips, tracing the outline of Starsky’s mouth tenderly. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since that day you told me you were falling in love with me.” Hutch smiled, obviously remembering. “After what George said though, I had to make do with the fantasy.”

“Me too.” 

Hutch laughed. “I’m not surprised. We’re usually on the same page.” He twined his fingers with Starsky’s, turning pensive. “You think she’s poisoning him, don’t you?” 

“Yes. Her feet were nervous Nellies all through the first courses but, when the Don suggested changing plates, they nearly jumped out of her shoes. I think she was terrified you’d eat the food she’d had prepared for him.”

“It probably wouldn’t have killed me. It may be something that’s been going on for a while, a slow, cumulative poison. He doesn’t look well. It could have made me sick though, since I probably have no tolerance for whatever it is.” Hutch put an arm around his shoulders. “Just one more reason I have to cherish you, Sir Knight. You may have saved my life. Again.”

Starsky was confused. Saving each other’s lives was something he and Hutch had always done. No big deal. Why had it suddenly become so important? Maybe because now they were much more to each other than they’d ever been. He’d have to think about that.

“We both need to practice, Davey.” Hutch was mimicking Chris again but the tone was fraught with a passion that was pure Hutch.

“Yes, Master.” Starsky slipped off the bed and turning, knelt in front of his partner. Placing his arms around Hutch’s hips, he drew him closer to the edge of the bed and swallowed the half-hard cock in one maneuver. 

“Oh, God,” Hutch breathed. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

Starsky grinned around the shaft in his mouth and managed to get the words out, too. “Contraction, Master.”

Hutch swatted his head, playfully, and buried his fingers in the curly hair as Starsky brought him to full song.

Starsky used all his growing skills laving, swallowing, licking, sucking and pleasuring his partner’s mythic phallus. At last he managed to relax his muscles enough to take Hutch’s shaft completely down his throat. 

Hutch drew in a quick breath. “No, Starsk,” he moaned, “we still have to…”

Hutch tried to pull out, but Starsky kept his arms firmly around the hips and even scooted himself farther forward. He swallowed a few times around the rod, causing Hutch to lose control and come unexpectedly, shudderingly, explosively, completely. 

Starsky allowed Hutch to back out a little so that he could breath again, while he continued to suck and lick and coax every possible drop of essence from the loved shaft. He’d never been allowed to bring his master to climax in his mouth before. This was something he had longed to do for weeks. He had taken Hutch’s seed into himself both ways now, and couldn’t decide which he preferred.

He looked up from under his lashes. The flushed face, the closed eyes, the mouth still open in the ecstatic exhalation, all demonstrated satisfaction and that was everything Starsky needed, or wanted. To pleasure his lover.

“Oh, God, St… Slave,” Hutch managed to say. “That was incredible.”

Starsky licked the last drop of cum off the head of Hutch’s cock. “Thank you, Master.”

Hutch pulled him up onto the bed beside him. “I have to penetrate you tomorrow night, and we have not practiced in days.”

“I’m ready, Master,” Starsky said, with confidence. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could, my sweet slave.” Hutch turned Starsky’s face and stared into his eyes. “My Davey.”

Starsky could have gazed into those blue-fire eyes forever. “My Hutch. My Master.”


	6. Chapter 6

After showers in the morning, when the cuffs and collar were in place, Hutch was particularly attentive working the ointment into Starsky’s ring holes. All the activity of the evening before, while wearing the chains, had made them very tender. Starsky tried not to fidget but Hutch’s hands on his nipples and cock were turning him on! Not for the first time recently he wondered when he’d gotten the hots for his partner? ‘Being in love is one thing but when did the simple touch of his hands make me hard, make me want him inside me?’ 

Hutch, with that shit-eating, knowing smile of his, capped the tube. “No jewelry today, Davey. These…” he cupped a gentle palm over Starsky’s right nipple and ring, “had a little too much weight-bearing exercise yesterday.”

“But you’ll take everything with you, right?” 

Hutch nodded and, as soon as he was dressed, slipped both chains and the diamond into his pocket. “I imagine you are hungry enough to eat the proverbial horse this morning, are you not?” His partner clipped the leash to his collar and led the way out of the room.

“Hope somebody’s knocked the hooves off first but, yes, Master, I sure am!” Starsky practically skipped along. He was unaccountably happy this morning and determined to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Studying the ‘small’ dining room they entered, Starsky figured it would seat only three hundred or so. Breakfast was available on long buffets filled with heated, covered dishes of entrees, or iced platters of fresh fruit and cold fish. Waiters scurried back and forth from the adjacent kitchens, replenishing choices constantly. People served themselves as often as they wanted and sat at any table they chose. Utensils, glasses, pitchers of water and orange juice were on all tables.

Starsky followed his master, trying not to salivate at the delicious smells coming from under all the covers. Hutch raised lid after lid, appraising his choices but not asking Starsky for his input. After apparently having made his selections, Hutch led the way to a corner table. Starsky knelt next to the chair which had its back to the wall. Hutch unsnapped the leash and coiled it on the table before walking to the buffets.

Starsky kept his eyes downcast, only cheating under his lashes occasionally. He spotted Marv immediately, eating in the middle of the room, with Arthur Belvedere and two other non-intellectual-looking types. Both had been agitators, along with Arthur, the previous evening. Starsky remembered that their names were Symes and Gadsdon.

Hutch came back carrying two heaping plates, put one on the table and sat. Leaning down, he put the second plate and a set of cutlery on the floor in front of Starsky.

“What’s this?” Starsky asked, suspiciously. “Master.”

“Crepes, Davey.” Hutch had a definite smile in his voice. “I predict you will like them.” 

Starsky took the first bite with trepidation but the flavors set his taste buds dancing. Catching himself in time, he swallowed the exclamation he was about to voice and managed to keep the volume down. “Wow! This is delicious!”

“One of the best things France ever invented, I believe,” said Hutch, in his professorial tone. “I thought you deserved a treat.”

“What’s in ‘em?” Starsky’s mouth was full of gastronomic delight.

“These are strawberry, with a cream cheese topping. I believe there will be ham and cheese for lunch.”

“Can we just wait here for lunch then, please, Master?” Starsky asked, only half in jest, trying not to gobble.

“I’m afraid we have --”

“Treatin’ your slave like royalty ain’t gonna earn you no points, Chris.” Delgetti pulled out a chair and sat, uninvited. 

Starsky straightened up and, keeping his eyes down, paid attention. It sounded as if Marv had already been drinking and Starsky could sense Hutch’s rigid control.

“If I had wanted company, other than Davey’s, I would have invited you, Cousin Marv. As it is, I do not. Please rejoin your associates.” He picked his fork back up and cut a bite of his omelet.

Marv’s face became infused with barely contained rage. “You said you’d tell us today what you intend to do about --”

“I did not specify a time.” Hutch overrode the petulant whine. “I will announce my decision when I am ready. Not before. Now, please…” He allowed the rest of the repeated request to go unspoken.

After several seconds, when no one within hearing moved, Delgetti huffed and got up. Casting a malevolent look at Hutch, he went back to his table, murmuring with his compatriots.

“Well,” said Hutch, sotto voce, “that was unpleasant.”

Suddenly the crepes weren’t quite as appealing as they’d been and Starsky put his fork down. “I’d like to leave, Master. But have you eaten enough? Gotta keep your strength up, too, you know.”

Hutch nodded and ate the rest of his breakfast. Finding his appetite again, Starsky finished the last crepe. 

Hutch poured two glasses of orange juice and handed one to Starsky. He drank the second glassful himself. Uncoiling the leash, he snapped it to Starsky’s collar. When Hutch pushed his chair back and stood, Starsky picked up his plate, put it on the table, and rose to his feet. 

Following his master from the room, Starsky could feel everyone’s stare. Some, he could tell, were envious. Others were not.

Outside in the corridor, Hutch’s posture became suddenly wary. Cheating a quick look, Starsky saw a woman in a maid’s uniform at the junction of a cross hallway ahead of them. ‘That’s Maria!’ Hutch had undoubtedly recognized her, too. The diminutive figure turned and disappeared into the hallway.

“I have a desire to visit my mother’s old rooms, Davey,” said Hutch in a conversational tone. “Hopefully, whoever lives there now will accommodate my maudlin wishes.” He led the way around corners, through open spaces and corridors to the point where, even though Starsky thought he had memorized the layout of the place, he was utterly lost. He was glad Maria continued to be visible, ahead, from time to time. 

“There are so many places I want to show you, Davey.” Hutch was clearly speaking for the benefit of anyone within hearing. “The gymnasium is beyond the scope of anything I’ve ever seen elsewhere. There’s a pool that any Olympic hopeful would covet, a spa, tennis courts to rival Wimbledon, stables with dozens of horses, The North Lawn is where Uncle holds bowling tournaments every summer.” Hutch tugged lightly on the leash. “You like cars, Slave, I know you do. Wait until you see the garages. Uncle has vehicles that will make you salivate.”

Starsky would not have been expected to comment so he didn’t. They passed very few people. And no children, attended or by themselves.

At long last, when Starsky was beginning to regret not having dropped bread crumbs, they came to an open doorway in what was obviously a residential wing. Maria was standing inside and she beckoned them in. Leaning out for a moment, probably to make sure no one was lurking, she came in and closed the door behind them.

Sitting on a sofa in front of the windows was Adelaide Delgetti, Cousin Marv’s wife. Starsky nearly stepped on Hutch’s heels because he had come to a stop so quickly. 

Adelaide rose to her feet and approached Hutch, her hand outstretched. “I can see you know who I am.” Her smile was guileless. “But please don’t hold that against me.”

Hutch shook the proffered hand and put a pleasant expression on his face. “Of course I remember you, Cousin Adelaide.”

She walked back to her former seat and beckoned Hutch and Starsky to join her. Maria moved to stand next to the sofa. 

Hutch sat in an arm chair across from the couch. Starsky knelt at his right.

“I will call you Chris,” Mrs. Delgetti said, “even though I know it isn’t your name.”

Hutch’s face remained impassive but Starsky could feel his tension ratchet up quickly. Starsky lifted his head a little and gathered himself for whatever might happen next. If this woman had accomplices, things could get hairy. 

Maria sat on the arm of the sofa and smiled at Hutch. “I take it that Agent Holsten didn’t see fit to tell you there would be others here who will help you when the time comes?” 

“An oversight on his part, I am sure,” said Hutch, tactfully.

“Oh, no it wasn’t.” Maria laughed. “I’ve known him now for almost two years and he never reveals any information he doesn’t think is vital.”

Hutch relaxed a little. “I remember.”

“He undoubtedly left that tidbit for me and Adelaide.” Maria gestured, encouragingly, toward the woman seated beside her. 

“I moved into your… uh, Chris’ mother’s rooms,” Adelaide began, “when I left Marvin.” She reached her right hand up and Maria took it immediately. “Maria convinced me. She said he’d eventually kill me if I didn’t.”

“He would have, too,” Maria told them.

“It was a long time though,” Adelaide went on, “before she trusted me enough to tell me she was helping an international task force in their efforts to bring the Cominetti family down.” She looked at Maria, then back at Hutch and Starsky. “My mother was a Cominetti, and I love Don Augustino. But…” her voice and face turned frigid, “there is not one redeeming quality in Melissa. And when my husband became her lieutenant, he began to emulate her.” She stood up suddenly and smoothed her skirt. “May I offer you something to drink?”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Hutch said. “We just ate.”

“Oh, of course.” She appeared flustered, and Starsky became wary again.

Maria put a gentle hand on Adelaide’s arm. “Sit down, dear. There’s nothing you can say that these men haven’t heard before, I’m sure.” Maria smiled at Hutch and Starsky. “They’re police officers, after all.”

Adelaide sat back down. She looked at Starsky as if seeing him for the first time. “Wouldn’t you like to sit in a chair, young man?”

Surprised, Starsky looked up at Hutch who nodded and unsnapped the leash. Starsky got up, moved around, and sat in the companion arm chair to Hutch’s, on his left. “Thank you, ma’am. My knees are grateful.”

Adelaide still appeared unsure, but when Maria took her hand again, she must have found some resolve. “Marvin was always heavy-handed but he was never cruel. Until after he got involved with Melissa and her gang.”

When she didn’t continue, Hutch prodded gently. “And then?”

She looked down at her hand clasped in Maria’s. “He began beating me, if I didn’t want to have sex with him. When that didn’t work, he’d just rape me.”

Starsky and Hutch remained silent. There was nothing they could say.

“When you take this place down,” Adelaide said, angrily, “I hope you kill him.” She looked up at them. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“Wouldn’t it be a better revenge,” Starsky asked, quietly, “if he were to spend the rest of his rotten life in prison?”

She thought about that. “You’re right. It would be.” 

Maria squeezed her hand. “Now,” the maid said, forcefully, “let us tell you who’s on your side and who isn’t.” 

Adelaide got up and went to a small desk. She brought back a large diary and handed it to Hutch. “Even if someone came in here and read this, they’d think it’s the ramblings of a silly old woman.” She shrugged. “And maybe it is.”

Hutch paged through it. “No… I can see it’s a great deal more than that.”

Maria and Adelaide looked at each other. “You understand it?” Maria asked.

“I think so.” Hutch passed the book to Starsky. 

It took Starsky a half dozen pages to see the way it worked. “It’s ingenious. These are everyday observations of the people here, family members, spouses, staff, waiters, maids, cooks, everybody you come in contact with on a daily basis. You’re not bad-mouthing any of them, you’re not even praising them. You’re just talking about them.”

“But…?” Maria and Adelaide asked at the same time.

“It’s the pages you talk about them _on_ , right?” Starsky looked at the ladies before giving the book back to Hutch and exchanging a nod with him.

“Left side pages are for Bad Guys,” Hutch told the women.

“Right side pages are for the Good Guys,” Starsky finished. 

Adelaide beamed. “Exactly! Sinister and dexter. You’d be surprised at the number of people who don’t know that sinister, left, has come to mean bad, and dexter, right, means good.”

“Well…” Starsky sent a pointed glance toward his partner, “when you’re left-handed, like I am, you might be inclined to learn.”

“It helps,” Hutch went on, ignoring the look Starsky lobbed at him, and paging through the book again, “that we already had a pretty good idea about who wears the Black Hats. It is how I deciphered your code.”

“But it’s great to know, for sure, which are the White Hats,” Starsky added. 

“Take that with you, Chris,” Adelaide urged. “You can --”

Hutch handed it back quickly. “No. Thank you, Adelaide, but it cannot be found in my possession. I simply could not explain that.”

She took it, pink rising on her cheeks. “Of course not. I wasn’t thinking.”

“On the contrary, ma’am,” Starsky responded. “You were thinking extremely cleverly when you came up with that idea.” He gestured toward the book she now held.

She blushed prettily and Maria’s smile widened in appreciation.

“If I might borrow it again, please?” Hutch held out his hand and she readily gave it to him. “My partner and I will spend a few minutes, if you do not mind, refreshing ourselves. Holsten’s rogue’s gallery did not list hat colors.” Hutch moved his chair close to Starsky’s and, for the next half hour, they studied the book. When they were finished, Hutch handed the diary back to Adelaide and she returned it to her desk. Hutch looked at Maria. “You are to meet with Holsten tomorrow?” 

“Yes,” she replied, all business now. “I have a doctor’s appointment. People here think I have…” she paused, plainly embarrassed, “female problems. The car will drop me at the office and come back for me two hours later. Holsten has a pair of rooms in a travel agency in the same building. Two hours is all we can ever spend together. But, so far, it’s been enough.”

“How do you contact him?” Hutch wanted to know.

“I call the doctor’s receptionist and ask for my test results. Or some other code we’ve arranged. He calls me back on Don Augustino’s private line, at a time when only I will be there to answer.”

“And if someone else answered?” Starsky asked.

“Holsten would hang up,” she replied. “At least, that’s the arrangement. It has never happened.”

“Could you give us your doctor’s address, please, Maria?” Hutch asked.

“Of course.” She got up, went to the desk and wrote the information, giving it to him when she came back. 

Starsky could tell she was now concerned about something though. “Don’t worry, Maria.” He was pretty sure he knew what she was thinking. “My partner and I will never do anything to put you in jeopardy here. No one will find out from us that you’re our covert operative.” He smiled his most ingratiating lop-sided grin. “Our spy.”

She swallowed and smiled back. Adelaide patted her hand. 

Hutch memorized the doctor’s address and phone number before he handed the paper to Starsky, who put the information in his memory bank, too. With a wider grin at Maria, he put the paper in his mouth, chewed and swallowed it. The ladies laughed. 

Hutch punched him lightly on the arm before he turned his attention back to Maria. “Tomorrow, when you see Holsten, tell him Davey and I will find some way to get to the city and come to his office. I have a few things I would like to say to him.” 

Maria laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

Hutch stood up. “My thanks, ladies, for an entertaining, enlightening morning. My slave and I will look forward to more such times soon.” He extended his hand to Adelaide, who stood to take it, then to Maria.

Starsky stood and waited while his partner snapped his leash on. When Hutch turned toward the door, Starsky winked at Maria and Adelaide before following a pace behind. Both women tried to smother a giggle.

“Did you wink, Slave?” Hutch asked quietly, when they were outside in the hallway again. Starsky could hear the humor and approval in the firm voice.

“I did, Master.”

“I am glad. They needed a happy moment.” Starsky walked behind his partner, back the way they’d come. “Where can we go, Davey? We need to talk and not be overheard.”

“You mentioned the North Lawn, Master,” Starsky remembered. “Would that work?”

“Yes, I believe it would.”

Leading Starsky through several corridors, Hutch at last opened double glass doors onto a lawn that appeared to be the size of a small country. “Geez, who mows all that grass?” Starsky wondered out loud.

Hutch walked to a wooden bench set against a white stone wall bathed in bright sunlight. Sitting comfortably, he leaned back against the warm rock. Starsky knelt at his knees. “Of all the codes I have ever read about,” Hutch mused, “Adelaide’s is possibly the simplest, but at the same time cleverest.”

“Sure helps us.”

“Holsten’s information indicated the majority of the bad guys, but we would have had no way of knowing that most of the staff and servants will be on our side when the bust goes down.”

“If she’s right.”

Hutch opened his eyes and looked at him. “You think she is lying to us?”

“Heck no,” Starsky said, quickly. “I’m just afraid she may be the victim of wishful thinking. The maids, wait staff, groundskeepers, and all those others may not realize what going up against highly organized criminals could involve.”

Hutch closed his eyes again. “You may be correct.” He ran the fingers of his right hand into Starsky’s hair and Starsky leaned into it. Suddenly Hutch opened his eyes again and sat up, looking concernedly at Starsky. “You are trembling, Davey! What is it?”

Starsky was only beginning to realize he was cold. “A little chilly, Master. That’s all.” 

“Come here.” Hutch opened his arms and drew Starsky onto his lap, cradling his shivering body, pulling his knees up and wrapping his own long arm around them. Leaning back against the warm wall, Hutch held Starsky tightly. 

Starsky settled his head on Hutch’s shoulder. “Where are the children, Master?” 

Hutch was silent for a long time. “You are correct, Davey. We have seen no one under the age of, what, twenty?”

“That sounds about right. It doesn’t make any sense. There are lots of women here who should have children around them.”

“And there are none.” Hutch was silent again. “We should have asked Maria and Adelaide.” He relaxed again. “Next time.” He ran his hand up and down Starsky’s arm. “Are you warm enough now?”

Starsky murmured in answer and snuggled more closely into the embrace. He turned his head a little and looked out over the vast lawn. Trees bordered the edge on the east side but, on the north, the grass sloped gently into the far, far distance. “Do you remember that Jim Webb song?” 

“‘And the Yard Went On Forever’,” Hutch answered, following Starsky’s gaze.

“The lyrics were weird…. But the title sure works for this place.”

Abruptly, Hutch sat up a little straighter, tightening his hold on Starsky when the movement unbalanced him. “St… uh, Slave,” he corrected himself, “look at the east side of the lawn.”

Starsky did but couldn’t see anything he recognized as important.

“Those trees are hemlocks, I think,” Hutch told him.

Starsky sat up, too. “The poison kind?”

“No, the trees are just trees, I believe. But look at the plants under them. I think those are conium maculatum, also known as poison hemlock. See the lacy triangular leaves? And the clusters of white flowers?”

Starsky disentangled himself from Hutch’s limbs and knelt back on the ground, staring at the shrubs bordering the meadow. “You think that’s where she’s getting her poison?” 

“I would be very surprised if it was not. Every part of the plant is deadly, and it would be very easy to introduce the chopped leaves into the Don’s salad --”

“It wasn’t the salad Melissa was worried about,” Starsky pointed out.

“I remember. It was the main course. She may be drying the stems or the leaves and crushing them to powder. That could be sprinkled lightly over almost any item and probably go unnoticed. Especially if she is using only a little at a time.”

“Doesn’t it have a taste?” 

“I have no idea.” Hutch appeared worried. “I need to get a look at Dr. Dom’s books.” He cast an overly concerned glance at Starsky’s leg. “Should we not visit the good doctor again, Slave? Have him make sure your road rash is healing properly?”

“Indeed, yes, Master.”

Hutch got up and led the way back inside. Starsky was glad to be out of the breeze. This being naked all the time had its drawbacks.

From the far north end of the estate, where they’d been sitting, Hutch led them past the auditorium, the indoor Olympic size swimming pool, and the spa/sauna. As they crossed a junction of wide corridors, Hutch glanced to his right and stopped. Starsky, his usual pace behind, halted and waited. 

After a moment, Hutch turned and approached a set of huge double doors, Starsky following meekly. On either side of the doors stood a black-suited guard. Neither had a weapon in his hands but Starsky could tell, from the bulges under armpits, that both were carrying. 

“Good morning, gentlemen.” Hutch greeted them pleasantly. “This is the garage as I remember. Correct?”

“Ain’t that no more,” the guard on the right answered, gruffly.

“No? What, pray tell, is it now?”

“None o’ your business, Mr. Chris,” the other guard snarled. “Be on your way. Sir.” 

Hutch shrugged good naturedly, retracing his steps to the hallway junction.

“Whaddya bet those doors are guarded like that twenty-four hours a day,” Starsky whispered, when they were out of sight.

“No bet.”

“And whaddya bet it’s got something to do with the child porn Pickering was telling us about?”

“Again,” Hutch replied, grimly, “no bet.”

Continuing along the corridor, Hutch approached another set of double doors. These swung open effortlessly onto a fully equipped gymnasium. Hutch entered reverently, Starsky close behind. 

Clerestory windows offered plenty of light. The huge space housed parallel bars, a high bar, two floor-ex platforms, a pommel horse, a side horse, a set of rings, uneven parallel bars, and a balance beam; everything a coach could possibly desire for the training of Olympic level athletes. All sitting or hanging still, abandoned. It looked like a museum to Starsky.

Hutch wandered, trailing his hand along various surfaces. He would have been tall for a gymnast, but Starsky could almost see the long, lean form working the still rings, the high bar, parallel bars, as well as other pieces of equipment. 

Hutch stopped and stared at the pommel horse. “We need to do something spectacular tonight, Davey,” he said, contemplatively. “I have an idea.” He walked to the side of the contraption. “Can you lean forward and put your arms through the uprights?”

Starsky could see what Hutch was thinking and did as requested. He put his chest onto the saddle, threaded his arms under the pommels and grasped the ends of the horse with his hands. His upper body, thankfully above the nipple rings, was ‘crucified’ on the apparatus. His lower body was positioned for either penetration or punishment.

“Perfect,” Hutch decided.

They left the gym and made their way to the clinic. Dr. Dom was reading a medical journal at his desk when Hutch entered, followed by Starsky. The doctor jumped up, concern flooding his face. “What is it, Chris? How can I help?”

Hutch led Starsky to the examination table, unsnapped the leash, and gestured for him to hop up. “I am probably overly cautious, Dr. Dom, but the courtyard floor was not the cleanest place. I do not want Davey to have any lasting injury from yesterday’s… misunderstanding. Could you please take a look and tell me the wound is healing as well as can be expected?”

The doctor washed his hands before moving to the table. “Lie down, please, Chris’ Slave.”

Starsky did as told. 

Out of the corner of Starsky's eye he watched Hutch move casually to the bookcase. While the doctor examined the scrapes, Hutch pulled a book off the shelf and turned to the index. Finding the pages he needed, he read quickly. 

After only a few minutes of tsking and clucking quietly to himself, the doctor straightened up and turned to Hutch who, by that time, was standing just behind him, his hands in his pockets. “Your slave heals remarkably well, Chris. None of the areas need further attention. Just keep the fresh places clean after the scabs come off and he’ll be fine.”

“Our thanks, Dr. Dom.” Hutch reattached the leash. “Are you hungry, Davey?”

Starsky sat up and jumped down off the table, keeping his eyes downcast. “I’m always hungry, Master.”

Hutch laughed, as did Dr. Dominic. Hutch turned to the physician. “Will you join us, doctor? Or have you other plans?”

“It would be my pleasure, Chris.” The doctor turned off the clinic’s lights and closed the door behind them.


	7. Chapter 7

As at breakfast, only about half the tables were occupied in the small dining room. But Marv was there again, undoubtedly having been told by Melissa to watch Chris and his slave at every opportunity.

Hutch settled Starsky on the floor next to a chair at a corner table then went with the doctor to the serving buffets. Hutch came back with an entire plate of crepes, ham and cheese this time, for Starsky, plus a huge chef’s salad for himself. The doctor had taken pork chops, apple sauce and a heaping mound of hash brown potatoes.

Hutch placed the serving of crepes on the floor and Starsky could see, from under his lashes, the wide smile on his master’s face when he dug in. Hutch began to eat his chef’s salad with enjoyment while the doctor dissected his chops, meticulously, and ate them one small bite at a time.

Delgetti came over and sat down. “What’s the punishment to be, Chris?” Starsky saw every eye and ear in the place turn to them.

“Not during lunch, Cousin Marv.” Hutch took another bite of salad. “Ask me again after Doctor Dominic and I have finished our meal.”

Marv huffed, went to a nearby table and glowered. “Bring me another whiskey,” he ordered a passing waiter. 

Starsky noticed several people hurriedly leave, probably to gather more ‘spectators.’

“He won’t leave you alone,” Dominic observed in a low voice.

“I believe Cousin Marv has anger management problems, sir.”

“Excellent diagnosis,” muttered the physician.

Hutch finished his salad in a leisurely manor and Starsky managed to eat all his crepes, even though his stomach had started turning flips. He and Hutch had discussed the beating but, with all the argumentative folks that seemed to congregate whenever Marv was harassing ‘Chris,’ it was anybody’s guess as to whether what they’d decided on would be accepted by the agitators.

Seeing that Hutch had finished, Delgetti got up immediately and sat down at their table. He brought his drink with him.

Hutch sat back and casually dropped a hand on Starsky’s neck. “Have you considered the matter, Davey?” 

Starsky spread his knees in full presentation position. “Yes, Master.” He noticed a few observers shudder at the displayed cock ring. 

“What say you?”

Starsky did he best to keep his voice steady. “Fifteen strokes, Master.”

The pronouncement was greeted with cheers of approval. People got up and moved closer. Weirdly, the room had suddenly filled up. Starsky hadn’t seen that happen and it unsettled him. He heard whisperers catching late comers up on the exchange, so far.

Hutch raised a hand. “Too many. The offense was minor and well intended.” 

Starsky heard unhappy mutterings.

“Besides,” Hutch added, ruffling Starsky’s hair, “I enjoyed the gesture.” He looked up at the faces surrounding their table. “Half!” A few heads nodded in possible grudging agreement. “However, since fifteen is not divisible by two, I decree a punishment of eight strokes.”

Cheers erupted. Even Delgetti had a satisfied smirk on his face. Dr. Dom appeared horrified.

“What instrument, Slave?” Hutch turned to Starsky.

“Your belt, please, Master.” Unfortunately, Starsky hadn’t managed to keep as firm a tone as he’d hoped. Still, no one commented.

“So be it!” Hutch stood up, raising his hands to his audience. “Tonight, after the penetration, I will deliver eight strokes, with my belt.”

“What about a show now, Chris,” Cousin Arthur shouted. 

“Yeah,” another voice responded. “We haven’t seen you kiss him since last night.”

“If you’re tryin’ to convince me he’s valuable, Cousin,” Delgetti snarled, “show me again. I might decide to come up with somethin’ you’ll want in trade. Or at least as a loaner.” He gulped the rest of his drink. “Show us again what a great kisser your slave is.”

Hutch hesitated and Starsky felt his uncertainty. Hiding his mixed feelings well, he raised Starsky to his feet, unsnapped the leash and coiled it on the table. “Command performance, Davey.” The words were spoken softly but since there had been dead quiet in the room, Starsky knew everyone heard.

Starsky didn’t have a chance to prepare himself, mentally or physically, before Hutch’s strong arms were around his rib cage and he was lifted off his feet. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around his partner’s waist and locked his ankles. Hutch’s back was probably going to kill him later but Starsky was already lost in the rapture.

Definite gasps were heard this time. However, Starsky couldn’t focus enough to pay attention to anything except the tongue in his mouth and large hands gripping his butt cheeks. Starsky’s nipples were pressed against Hutch’s chest and they screamed with pleasure. His cock, jammed against his master’s crotch, joined the chorus. Hutch’s confined erection strained the fabric of his trousers to the extent that Starsky felt he could almost have sat on it. That frivolous thought was driven from his numbed mind though by the onslaught of Hutch’s tongue in his mouth. 

Starsky sucked the invader deep and swallowed around it, as he’d done with the shaft the night before. And, as before, it took Hutch by surprise. Blue-fire eyes flew open and Starsky smiled into them, swallowing around the tongue again. 

“What’d he do just then?” someone shouted. “Did anybody see? Chris acted like he’d been stung.” “Unauthorized, whatever it was,” a voice answered. “And the slave’s eyes were open. He was lookin’ right at Chris.” “He didn’t have permission for that.” “More lashes!”

Such ravings barely penetrated Starsky’s conscious thoughts. He folded his arms around Hutch’s neck and grabbed fistfuls of soft, silken hair. 

“Oh, that’s not allowed,” someone groaned. “Five more lashes!”

Hutch tightened his grip on Starsky’s ass and moved his hips and groin against Starsky’s ringed cock. Starsky moaned and dropped one leg, to stroke it up and down Hutch’s thigh. His master shivered. 

“Now I _know_ that’s forbidden!” Cousin Arthur growled.

Starsky could sense people shuffling around, probably trying to get a better view of everything that was happening in this epic lip-lock. The cheers were about evenly matched against the grumblings and criticisms.

At long last Starsky could tell Hutch was getting tired and knew his back would make him pay for this exhibition. Dropping his legs, Hutch lowered him to the floor. His pins were only a trifle unsteady under him. 

Hutch broke the kiss, pulling back only enough to smile, guardedly, into Starsky’s eyes. 

“You’re not gonna let him get away with all that extra shit, are ya, Chris?” Cousin Arthur demanded. “Ten extra strokes! At least.”

Silence enveloped the room. Hutch didn’t react at all to the advice and opinions but he stared into Starsky’s now fearful eyes for what seemed like eternity. Starsky was pretty sure he’d screwed up again. 

“I believe you took a few liberties, Slave.” Hutch kept his gaze locked on Starsky’s but raised his voice. “However, I did encourage them. And enjoyed them thoroughly. So… only two… additional strokes.”

The hall erupted in cheers and applause. “Show ‘im who’s boss, Chris!”

“Ten!” Hutch continued in the no nonsense tone. “Ten strokes total, by my hand, with my belt…” He kissed Starsky on the lips. “After penetration.”

Starsky was so much more than simply weak in the knees he was glad when Hutch motioned for him to resume presentation position. He sank down gratefully while Hutch drew his chair back to the table and sat. Hutch refastened the leash and held a glass of water so that Starsky could drink his fill. A waiter appeared with a pitcher and refilled the glass. Hutch drank deeply.

Delgetti sat down, too. “I must say, Cousin Chris, you’ve changed my mind about kissing.”

“It is a pleasant activity,” said Hutch, mildly. 

“I disagree.” Starsky heard what he thought might actually be grudging respect in Marv’s voice. “With you two, it’s practically an Olympic event.”

Hutch laughed, a cheery, heart-felt sound that made Starsky’s soul soar. He almost joined in but felt the gentle tug on his leash in time. Hutch knew him so well he’d been kept from yet making another mistake.

*******

Hutch walked the doctor to his clinic, Starsky trailing the requisite pace behind, before leading the way back to their room. Once inside, Hutch pushed him toward the bed. “We both need sleep, Sir Knight.” He laid down on the bed, fully clothed and held his arms open.

“Yes, Master.” Starsky stretched out on his side, his back to Hutch.

“I cannot promise that I will not hurt you tonight, Davey.” Hutch pulled Starsky against him and spooned behind him. “Because I will. I have not been inside you enough times for it to be routine yet.”

“It’ll never be routine.” Starsky turned within the embrace and faced his partner, sliding his arms around Hutch’s waist. “And I don’t care how much it hurts. I want you inside me. All the time! I want you there right this minute but…” he kissed Hutch lightly. “I know we can’t. It’s okay. I can wait, Master.” He snuggled in Hutch’s arms.

“Afterward, though,” Hutch sounded tortured. “They have forced me into a position where I will have to flog you.”

“I know. It’s all been my fault anyway, I keep screwing up. And you won’t be able to hold back.” Starsky looked into the tormented eyes. “You’ll have to hit me hard or they’ll think it’s not real.”

“You are correct.” Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky and buried his face in the curly hair. “But dear God! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Contraction, Master.” Starsky kissed Hutch’s chin. He knew very well what that night’s entertainment would involve and he was scared that he’d let his partner down in some way. That was his biggest worry. Not the pain, but that he might bring humiliation and possible danger to Hutch.

Hutch caressed his flank. “Thank you for correcting me again, Slave.”

“You’re welcome, Master.”

Against all odds, Starsky fell asleep. He woke up sometime later, still wrapped tightly in strong arms. Hutch was snoring softly so Starsky gratefully joined him again.

*******

“Please, Master…” 

Hutch was fully dressed, after their nap and showers. “Yes, Davey?”

“May I wear the jewelry tonight? Please?”

Hutch didn’t appear to be in favor of the idea. “Did we not agree your wounds were --”

“I need them,” Starsky interrupted. “Tonight’s going to be tough. I need all the armor I can get. And somehow I think of those things as my protection now. Because you put them on me.” He didn’t know how else to try to explain his feelings.

“That’s beautiful, Starsk.” Hutch grinned. “And don’t you dare tell me that was a contraction.”

Starsky looked down, smiling. “No, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Hutch affixed the two chains and the diamond, taking obvious pride and pleasure in decorating his slave.

*******

After the dramatics of the previous night’s dinner, the welcome home feast was relatively uneventful. Starsky noticed that no slaves attended though. Too bad, they were missing a great meal, from all the comments he heard. Course after course came and went but Starsky was so nervous he couldn’t eat much. Watching his partner under his lashes, he was aware that Hutch didn’t actually manage to swallow more than a few bites either. ‘Maybe we’ll raid the kitchen later. Like Hutch said we might do last night.’

Melissa’s feet, under the table, remained relatively calm. The Don was more than likely safe from another poisoning episode, at least for that night.

When the dessert dishes had been cleared away, Don Cominetti stood up and lifted his wine glass. Starsky, watching him covertly, noticed that his hand was a little unsteady. Everyone in the room, except Starsky, stood as well, glasses in hand. “I want to officially welcome my nephew, Christopher, home from his travels.” He took a drink, but didn’t sit down. No one else did either. “He has brought with him a unique individual. One I wish to welcome into our circle as well.” He cocked his glass toward Starsky. 

Hutch reached down to Starsky’s elbow and raised him onto his knees. He could hear people shuffling for a better view.

“We have been promised an exhibition of sexual skills tonight and I know we will not be disappointed.” Cominetti drank more wine. “Unfortunately, that activity will be followed by ten punishment strokes required by the slave’s misdeeds.” He looked around at the rapt faces within his view. “We are all aware that mistakes require punishment. I trust we will each learn a lesson from tonight’s demonstration.”

He sat down and for many seconds, the proverbial pin-drop would have sounded like a canon shot. Everyone else took their seats.

With fingers shaking only slightly, Hutch unsnapped the leash from Starsky’s collar. “Uncle?” He turned toward the Don.

“Nephew?” 

“May I borrow your guards again, please?” 

“Of course.” Don Augustino gestured over his shoulder and Carter and Martini hurried forward from positions at side doors. 

“Could they accompany my slave to our room? He must prepare and I would not want anyone to accost him while he is about his errand.”

“Naturally.” The Don motioned the two men over to Hutch.

Hutch stood up and raised Starsky to his feet. “Go and prepare yourself, Davey.” Hutch wrapped the leash around his palm nervously. His voice, however, betrayed no emotion and his face showed only calm resolve. “When you are finished, return to me in the courtyard.” He took a small key out of his pocket and placed it in Starsky’s palm.

“Yes, Master.” Starsky made damn sure his voice was neutral and controlled. He was determined no one would know how scared he was. He turned and walked calmly through the packed room, finding his way unerringly to their suite. Carter and Martini followed behind.

Once inside the room, Starsky knew he had no time to waste and, doing the things he needed to do would keep him from thinking about coming events. He knelt and unlocked the cuffs from his ankles, then his wrists. He placed them carefully on the table before unsnapping the heavy gold chain from his cock ring and allowing it to swing between his legs, hanging from his collar in back.

Turning to Carter, but keeping his eyes down, Starsky held out the key. “I can’t remove the collar by myself.” He turned his back to the guard.

In all the numerous mirrors of the room, Starsky watched the flustered guard move his hair out of the way and, with only a few fumbled attempts to get the tiny key into the tiny padlock, open the fastening. Starsky turned around, accepting the collar and key. Coiling the chain around the leather, he placed the items next to the cuffs. “Thank you.” 

Starsky headed for the bathroom, leaving the door open. He wanted to engage the guards in conversation while he worked. He was pleased to see that both men sat, uneasily, in chairs where they could get a look, if not directly, then reflected in the bathroom’s mirrors, at everything he would be doing. For some instinctive reason, he needed both men to invest emotion in the plight of slaves. Perhaps they’d treat the ones who lived here better after he and Hutch were gone. 

He began to prepare the enema he would give himself. In the mirrors, he noticed the unconscious revulsion on their faces. “It’s not so bad, fellas. You get used to it.”

“Do this all the time, do you?” Carter asked.

“No,” Starsky replied, “not all the time.”

“How often?” Martini wanted to know.

“Only when my master wants to make a good impression.”

“Why in the world does he think he needs to make a good impression here?” Carter was obviously shocked. “He’s family!”

“My master is a gentle soul. He doesn’t want anyone to be mad at him.” The guards exchanged a glance. “Miss Melissa’s already made it clear, Mr. Carter, that she doesn’t want my master to stay.” 

“We saw that.” 

“She could have killed him with that cup of punch.” Starsky didn’t try to hide the concern in his voice. “Do you think she meant to?”

“I don’t know,” Carter admitted. “I suppose it’s possible. She seems to get away with a lot.” 

“Chris didn’t fall for it though,” said Martini, with what sounded like approval.

“And you caught the little weasel that was doing her dirty work,” Carter added. “That was sweet.”

“Cousin Carl’s not a very nice person is he?” Starsky tried to make it sound like an innocent question.

“You could say that,” Carter agreed.

“And Cousin Marvin has been abrasive since our arrival,” Starsky added.

“So we’ve noticed,” said Martini. “Marv is Melissa’s chief lieutenant. Whatever he says comes out of her mouth.” 

“He’s the one that backed Chris into a corner about Fuck Night tonight, isn’t he?” Carter asked.

“Yes,” Starsky replied. “But I believe my master would’ve been able to pass off his nasty attitude if he had been the only one.” 

“Arthur Belvedere belongs to Melissa, too,” Carter noted. “He and his two cronies have been as loud as Marv when they’re badgering Chris. We’ve all heard them.”

“It was Arthur and his buddies that made it necessary for you to be punished afterward, right?” Martini’s question sounded full of anger.

“I think so,” Starsky said. “I don’t know who they were.”

“I do,” Martini stated.

“I thought it was beautiful when you kissed his hand,” said Carter. “Brought tears to my eyes.”

“Not everybody else’s though,” Martini pointed out, his voice hard. “They reacted like you’d pulled a knife or something.”

“Slaves are not allowed to touch a non-slave without express permission,” Starsky explained. “I made a mistake. I have to be punished.”

“But ten lashes?” Martini sounded truly outraged.

“Chris didn’t have a choice about the extra two, Joe,” Carter reminded his friend. “He was forced into it. Belvedere wanted _ten_ more.”

“Yeah,” Martini grunted. “I heard him.”

“My master doesn’t enjoy beating me, guys. In case you were wondering.” 

“I guess we were,” Carter said. “Seein’ those old lash marks on your ass.” 

“I’m a slow learner sometimes.” Starsky glanced at them in the mirrors. “But believe me, he’ll feel every stroke tonight, just like I will.” Starsky finished up the procedure. 

“I don’t know who I feel sorrier for then.” Carter shrugged. “You or him.”

“Does Miss Melissa have many followers who share her opinion?” Starsky rinsed himself out after the enema. Both guards turned away again, plainly embarrassed, while he cleaned his implements, dried them and put them away in the cabinet. “If there are too many who think like her, we shouldn’t stay. No matter what Don Augustino wants. It could be dangerous for my master.” 

“Melissa does have her minions.” Martini must have known he was stating the obvious. 

“I couldn’t live if anything happened to my master.” Starsky didn’t have to fake the tremor in his voice and he knew both men heard it.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Carter said. 

“He’s the best person, the kindest master I’ve ever known.” Starsky stepped into the shower, leaving them to their own conversation. He soaped and rinsed, being careful of his road rash areas and all the ring wounds. Everything was healing well, as his body almost always did. He washed his hair twice with the herbal shampoo Hutch liked so much, then dried himself, patting the scrape instead of rubbing it. 

Carter addressed him through the open door. “What’s it like to be a slave? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“When you have a master like the one I had at first, it’s hell.” Starsky lathered his face before shaving. “But when you have a master like mine now, it’s pure heaven.”

“You’re led around like a dog, man!” Martini got up and began to pace. “He keeps you on a leash! I don’t like that. How can you say it’s heaven? How can you claim he’s a nice guy?”

“The leash is as much for me as it is for him.” Starsky ran the razor carefully but quickly over his face, realizing he finally understood something. “When it’s on, I know he’s only three feet away from me. Believe me, fellas, when you’re in possibly unfriendly territory, it can be a comfort. I’ve learned that fact these last two days. I really hate it when I’m not connected to him.” 

He dried his face and put the shaving implements away before he brushed his teeth. “If my master weren’t as compassionate and caring as he is, he’d have given me to Cousin Marv the first evening we were here.”

“I guess you’re right,” Martini agreed. “He’s been protecting you pretty good.”

Starsky finished his preparations by squeezing lubricant onto his fingers and inserting them as far up his rectum as he could reach, catching the guards’ uncomfortable looks in the many reflections. He washed his hands well, dried them, capped the tube, and came out into the room. Putting the lube on the table, he picked up the collar with its attached chain, put the cuff around his neck and turned his back to Carter. The guard stepped up behind him and fastened the lock. 

“Thank you.” Knowing both pairs of eyes were staring at him, Starsky leaned over and reached between his legs for the chain. Catching hold of the end he straightened up and attached it to the ring in his cock. 

“Uh… Why put that back on?” Martini asked, uncomfortably. “It’s only gonna… be in the way, isn’t it?”

Starsky turned and, knowing he was breaking protocol, looked at the guard. “My master expects me to return to him exactly as I left. He’ll take it off.”

“Oh, uh, yeah… sure,” Martini stammered. “That makes sense, I guess.”

Starsky picked up the tube of lubricant and held it out to Carter. “Would you keep this for me, please?” 

Carter shot an uncomprehending look at his partner, who shrugged. Carter put the tube in his jacket pocket.

“What’s it feel like to wear those?” Martini gestured toward the rings, chains and dangling diamond.

“At times,” Starsky replied, with a self-satisfied smile, “it’s the most erotic thing you can imagine.” He laughed lightly. “At other times, like when I was chasing Cousin Carl, they’re just a pain.”

Both guards laughed, sounding only a little self-conscious.

Starsky knelt and attached the ankle cuffs, then the ones on each of his wrists. “These are the same as my leash.” He held up his hands. “They’re my protection. They allow everyone to see that I belong to my master. They can’t touch me.”

“That’s crazy!” Martini sounded offended.

“Maybe not, Joe,” said Carter. “I think I understand where he’s coming from. At least from his perspective.” The guard studied Starsky. “Your master seems like a decent guy. Joe and I’ll do everything we can to see that no harm comes to him.”

“Thanks, fellas.” With a glance around the room, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Starsky picked the key up off the table and left the room, Carter and Martini behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

The walk back to the courtyard was completed much too quickly, according to the butterflies in Starsky’s stomach. He came out onto the landing to find the placed crammed with people and flooded with the light from hundreds of torches and candles.

An open space had been created in the center where the pommel horse had been brought in and placed. It had been secured to the floor with heavy duty ring bolts. The area was spotlighted by harsh flood lights that Starsky hadn’t noticed before, arrayed around the outside of the yard. ‘Lookin’ more and more like a football field all the time. Complete with rabid fans.’ The faces directed toward him had definite anticipatory expressions. A few looked displeased.

Taking a deep breath, Starsky walked down the steps and made his way through the throng, having already spotted Hutch, Don Cominetti, Melissa, Marv, Arthur and others clustered near the pommel horse. When he reached his partner’s side he dropped to full presentation position and held the key up on his open palm.

Hutch took the key and slipped it in his pocket. 

Probably subconsciously, everyone began stepping back, leaving ‘Chris’ and his slave alone in the center of the courtyard, next to the horse.

Hutch pitched his voice so that everyone could hear him. “Prepare me, Davey.”

Starsky clasped his hands behind his back and rose up on his knees, keeping his eyes downcast. Using his teeth, he pulled the end of the narrow brown belt, that Hutch had taken to wearing all the time, from the buckle and released the catch. Holding the square in his mouth, he pulled it lightly and the leather tongue slipped through. Without moving a muscle, Starsky held the buckle steady while Hutch slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees. The belt came out of the trouser loops without a single snag. 

Hutch took the belt from Starsky’s mouth and placed it around his neck. 

Murmurs of approval could be heard from the front rows of spectators. “Never seen it done quite like that before.” “Lovely,” murmured a female voice, definitely not Melissa’s. Their nights of practice had paid off in a perfect first element.

Next, Starsky undid the fastening on the waistband with his lips. Taking the zipper tab in his teeth, he smoothly lowered it, catching not a single hair. As if on command, Hutch’s beautiful phallus jumped out, quite clearly ready for whatever was in store. It was fully erect, the head rosy red and swollen. 

Several people gasped and Starsky saw a few step back, probably onto the toes of those behind. They must not have expected his master to be nude under his trousers. Starsky hid his proprietary smile. He could feel his partner’s cock thrumming in his hair and he was suddenly utterly lost in his love for this man. “Permission to…”

“What is it, Slave?”

“May I kiss it?”

There was complete silence and Starsky didn’t so much as breathe. 

An eternity later, Hutch chuckled softly. “Permission granted.”

Around them, Starsky heard a collective sigh. As reverently as he’d ever done anything in his life he touched his mouth to that loved organ. Another sigh ran around the yard. When Starsky drew back, a bubble of pre-cum appeared in the slit and, without thinking, he licked it off.

A loud gasp broke the silence.

Starsky sat back on his heels and hung his head, knowing he’d royally screwed up this time. Hutch was undoubtedly contemplating his next move and there was nothing Starsky could do. Dead silence reigned until he heard the most unexpected sound: Hutch laughed.

In the crowd, Starsky could sense that held breaths were expelled.

Hutch reached down and put his hands on either side of Starsky’s face, tilting his head up. “Look at me, Davey.”

Starsky had no choice but to look up into his partner’s eyes. He didn’t know what he expected to see, anger, disappointment, resolve? Humor wouldn’t have been on the list, but there it was. Hutch leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, sweetly, lingeringly.

Hutch straightened a little, still holding Starsky’s face between his hands. “I know what you are doing, Davey…” He said it quietly but every single person probably heard, “and it is not going to work. Ten lashes I have decreed and ten lashes it will be. No more. Tonight.” He looked around at the rapt faces, then back at Starsky, a grin quirking the corner of his mouth. “That is not to say I will not be counting toward some future session. But that will be for ourselves, alone.” 

“Yes, Master.”

Hutch lifted Starsky to his feet. “Now, before I lose this woody you’ve given me…” He bent and unsnapped the chain from Starsky’s cock ring, allowing it to fall between his legs. With his hands on Starsky’s hips, he turned him around and unclipped the chain from the collar. 

Starsky couldn’t see Hutch now but knew exactly what he was doing. He was winding the chain and slipping it in his pocket, the only thing they hadn’t practiced. Next, he would shed his jacket and drop it, carelessly, on the floor. The belt would follow. He would unbutton his shirt last and tuck the tails into the back of his trousers. 

Starsky could picture Hutch’s beautiful golden chest above the marvelous column, which would be standing proud and eager. Starsky knew that Hutch’s body was a glorious sight and, audibly, others didn’t have to use their imagination. When he sensed that Hutch was ready, he broke the waiting silence. “How do you want me, Master?” 

“What is your preference, Davey? Bent over the horse? Or holding on?” 

Starsky didn’t hesitate, he’d been staring at the apparatus for the last minute, deciding he was going to need to have his hands around something solid. “Holding on, please, Master.” 

“So be it. Take your position.”

Starsky spread his feet and leaned forward, grasping a pommel in each hand. “Uh… permission to speak, Master?” He had remembered almost too late.

Hutch drew in a breath. “Granted.”

“Carter has something for you, Master.”

“My uncle’s bodyguard?” 

“Yes, Master.”

Starsky couldn’t see Hutch but he felt him put a hand on the small of his back and half turn toward where the Don was standing. “Uncle?”

Starsky turned his head far enough to see Cominetti in his peripheral vision. The Don looked at Carter, standing next to him. “Do you have something for Chris?” 

“Yes, sir,” 

“Deliver it then,” Augustino ordered.

Carter walked forward, put his hand in his pocket and handed Hutch the tube Starsky had given him before stepping back.

Hutch laughed softly. “My slave thinks of everything. Face me, Davey.” Starsky turned around. “Modified presentation.” Starsky dropped. Hutch lowered his hand, opening the fingers. “Apply this, please.” 

Starsky heard instant indrawn hisses. He’d just said ‘please’ to a slave!

“Treat your slaves and servants with respect and they will treat you with love,” Hutch told the astonished observers. “Davey…?”

“Yes, Master.” Starsky took the tube, uncapped it, squeezed the gel into the palm of his right hand and put the tube aside. Spreading the gel onto both hands, he reached for Hutch’s cock, keeping his eyes down. A finger impacted the sensitive organ and Hutch flinched. 

“You may watch what you are doing, Slave.”

“Thank you, Master.” Carefully, Starsky coated Hutch’s penis with the lubricant. Afterward, he lowered his eyes and dropped his hands, palms up, on his thighs.

“May I have a towel, please?” Hutch asked. 

Starsky heard footsteps and shoes appeared in his field of vision. 

“Hands, Davey,” his master commanded. Starsky held them up and Hutch carefully dried the gel from his fingers and palms. Presumably, he handed the towel back to the servant because the shoes disappeared. “Take your position again, Slave.”

Starsky stood, turned and spread his feet, grabbed the pommels and raised his hips. He kept his gaze forward, unfocused. He didn’t really want to see anyone’s face. After a few moments, he felt Hutch’s fingers rim his anus and he shivered. Two fingers entered him and his master chuckled again when he detected the lube.

“Perfectly prepared, Davey. I expected nothing less.”

Hutch’s shaft penetrated Starsky slowly, gently, carefully, pressing through the tight ring. He sucked in a breath, unintentionally tensing. Hutch leaned over his back. “Relax, babe,” he whispered. “Breathe, and let me in.”

Starsky did exactly as his master bade him. And Hutch’s rod slipped inside so sweetly and easily he wondered why he’d been nervous. He felt no pain, simply a brief blaze of intense pressure that carried him to his plateau. 

“Can you lift your legs onto the horse?” Hutch asked, in a normal voice.

“I think so, Master.” This was new.

“I’ve got you.”

Starsky was pulled upright and supported against Hutch’s chest, while he lifted his right leg onto the horse, next to the pommel. Hutch shifted and held him as he lifted his left leg onto the horse as well. With his ankles now resting on the apparatus, Hutch pulled Starsky back onto himself hard, thrusting with such strong pulses that Starsky’s calves inched onto the leather. Grabbing the pommels between his legs, Starsky used them to push himself back onto his partner’s lance, knowing that Hutch had never been as deep inside him before. He worked to get the loved shaft in even farther.

He was so full of his master’s organ he was sure he couldn’t feel any more pleasure but he was wrong. Hutch reached around and took hold of his cock, which Starsky hadn’t even realized had hardened. Hutch pulled Starsky back onto himself, thrusting harder and deeper while he stroked the rod in his hand. Starsky held on to the pommels and rode his master’s phallus, with Hutch plunging into him time after time. 

Starsky had no earthly idea how long his master had been inside him but he suddenly felt the column increase in size dramatically and knew he didn’t need to hold his own orgasm back any longer. “Masterrrrrrrr!” he cried, and fountained straight up. A moment later, Hutch released, filling Starsky with his seed.

Starsky was held tightly while he and his lover leveled off and slowly came down from their euphoric high. Hutch supported Starsky so that he could bring his legs, one at a time, off the horse, before he withdrew his shaft. 

Enthusiastic applause and cheering crept into Starsky’s consciousness. Just like Hutch predicted, something they’ve never seen before.

“May I have a fresh towel, please?” Hutch asked. Starsky heard running footsteps and Hutch’s right hand left his right hip. “Hold the pommels again, Davey.” Starsky did so. 

Hutch carefully cleaned his ass of excess gel and the semen that had leaked out. Hutch turned him and gently wiped the cum off Starsky’s stomach, penis and balls. 

When Hutch began to clean his own genitals, Starsky spoke before he could stop himself, “Please, Master…” 

“Speak, Slave.”

“Allow me?” Even though his eyes were downcast and he couldn’t see it, his partner’s radiant smile warmed him.

“Granted.”

Starsky dropped to his knees and a fresh towel appeared. He softly wiped Hutch’s organ and balls, rolling the sac as he did. His master drew in a breath and held it. When he was done, Hutch took the towel and handed it to someone out of Starsky’s field of view. 

Hutch lifted Starsky to his feet and kissed him. “That was incredible,” he whispered into Starsky’s mouth. “I love you.”

“Love you back.”

The cheering when on and on.

“Modified presentation, Davey,” Hutch said, at last.

Starsky dropped and rested. No one approached them because they all knew the ‘entertainment’ wasn’t over. From under his lashes, Starsky watched Hutch button his shirt and tuck it into his trousers. He slipped his cock back inside, zipped and fastened. He put his jacket on but didn’t button it. The belt went back around his neck. His master was moving so slowly he seemed to be attempting to put off the inevitable. ‘Can’t do it, babe. Gotta get it over with.’

When Hutch stood in front of him again, he rose to his feet, keeping his eyes lowered. Hands on his shoulders, Hutch turned him toward the horse. “Lean across, Slave. Chest between the pommels, arms underneath.” 

Starsky took the requested position. No one needed to know he and Hutch had figured this out earlier that day. Thankfully, moving the horse hadn’t changed its height so his chest still rested on the leather above the nipple rings and chain. 

“Try to get on top of the pain,” Hutch murmured as he adjusted Starsky’s feet for better balance.

“I will, Master.”

Starsky heard Hutch pull the belt from around his neck and unconsciously braced himself. He looked straight ahead and recognized Maria and Adelaide standing at the edge of the crowd in front of him. They looked horrified. He caught Maria’s eyes and held them. Maybe she could help him hold it together.

“Count, Slave,” said Hutch, suddenly.

The first stroke fell. “One, Master.” Hutch hadn’t hit him that hard the first time. He wasn’t holding back because he couldn’t. “Two, Master.” The lashes fell on top of each other, across his sensitive buttocks. “Three, Master.” Maria began to cry and Adelaide took her hand. “Four, Master.”

Starsky knew he’d made it through seven strokes a couple of weeks before. Or was it longer? He couldn’t remember. Surely this couldn’t be too much worse. Could it? “Five, Master.” Starsky felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “Six, Master.” 

Starsky’s thoughts were tumbling. ‘Don’t think! You asked for this, you knew what you were getting into. You saw the video.’ “Seven, Master.” His butt cheeks were on fire and there were still three to go. “Eight, Master,” turned out to be an unintended yelp. He sucked in a breath and tensed. “Nine, Master,” he barely got out through the pain. ‘Get on top of it? Not happening.’ The final lash wrenched a shouted “Ten, Master,” from him.

People began cheering immediately. 

There was what seemed like a long delay when Starsky didn’t know what was happening and he fought to hold himself together. At last Hutch was at his side, easing him away from the horse and to his knees. He didn’t even try to sink onto his heels, he knew he’d fall over if he did. “I tried to get on top of it, Master. I tried.” He knew his voice was shaking but he couldn’t help it. 

Hutch gently wiped the tears from his face. “I know. You did great.”

“I’ve brought him some water.” It was Dr. Dominic’s voice. Hutch held the glass and Starsky drank it all. The doctor took it back, undoubtedly handing it off to a waiter. “Bring him to the clinic, Chris. I have salve.”

Hutch raised Starsky to his feet and supported him.

Don Cominetti stepped up to them. Starsky made the mistake of looking at him before immediately dropping his eyes, but he saw no sign of reproach on the old man’s face. If anything, there was compassion and pride. “My compliments, Nephew.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Starsky knew his partner was anxious to get him to the clinic, but he couldn’t offend the Don.

“Come to me,” said Cominetti, sotto voce, “when you have him settled.”

“Yes, sir,” Hutch responded, equally softly.

With Dr. Dominic leading, Hutch and Starsky made their way through the crowd. 

“Damn fine entertainment, Chris!” Delgetti yelled. “I’ll be thinkin’ about an offer. After this, I just gotta have a piece o’ your slave!”

“Thinking is never going to be your strong suit, Marv,” Hutch murmured.

Starsky would have laughed if he could have spared the breath. He didn’t remember getting to the clinic but he was suddenly lying on his stomach on the doctor’s daybed. Hutch sat next to him, a hand resting on the small of his back. No one else was in the room. “Did I pass out, Hutch?” 

“Not really.” Hutch’s voice was ragged. “You just kind of went somewhere else for a while.”

“I tried to get on top of it. I swear I did. I tried.” Starsky felt like he was falling apart. All the weeks of worry, stress, pain, abused body parts and new feelings about his partner seemed to have taken their toll. 

“I know. It’s over, Starsk. You were perfect,” Hutch crooned. “I swear it’ll never happen again. I --”

“Don’t,” Starsky broke in. “You can’t promise that. We’re not out of here yet.”

The doctor came into the room, carrying several tins of ointment. “Sorry it took so long, couldn’t find where I had my stock.” He handed one of the containers to Hutch and put the others on the table. “Take the fresh ones with you when you go. This is my own concoction and I know it works.” 

He stood beside Hutch and put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing I need to tell you, Chris, about his care right now. Use that liberally, several times during the night, keep him hydrated, and he should be much better in the morning.” He pointed to the table. “There’s water in the pitcher. Get him to drink as much as he can.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Dom,” said Hutch.

“I’m so sorry you were forced to do that to him. But I know he’s strong, and you’ll both make it through this.” Without another word, the doctor left, closing the door behind him.

Hutch began applying the salve to Starsky’s new welts even though his hands were shaking. “I lost control, Starsk.” He sounded devastated as the words came pouring out. “I beat you. If you hadn’t been counting, I think I might’ve gone right on hitting you. I could’ve hurt you so badly. I don’t know what --”

Starsky rolled onto his side and caught Hutch’s hand. “Now wait just a darn minute here, pal.” He took a deep breath. “We can’t both break at the same time. I thought I was going to, thought I wanted to but…” He tried the lop-sided grin his knew his partner loved to see. “Can’t. Got too much to do yet. So put some more of that stuff on my ass, partner, and let’s get the hell outta here.”

Hutch actually managed a chuckle. He kissed Starsky’s shoulder lightly and pushed him gently back onto his stomach. “Are the rings okay for you to be lying on them?”

“Can’t feel ‘em right now. The butt’s holdin’ center stage.”

Hutch spread the ointment carefully onto the red, swollen flesh. “I’m so sorry, Starsk. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t --”

“I do!” Starsky propped himself on his elbow and looked over his shoulder at Hutch. “I remember hearing voices. They were egging you on. After every stroke they whispered shit like, ‘Whip him harder, Chris,’ ‘Put your back into it,’ ‘Ten ain’t enough,’ ‘Keep goin’,’ ‘Hit him again!’ Crap like that.” 

Hutch appeared stunned, but his face cleared rapidly. “They were, weren’t they? I remember now. It was Delgetti’s and Belvedere’s voices. They weren’t satisfied that I was giving you the promised ten lashes, they wanted more. They wanted me to _hurt_ you!”

“Remember what George said about predators?” Starsky forced a crooked grin. “Glad you heard me counting.”

“Me, too, Starsk.” Hutch still sounded distracted.

“Better get back in character, Master. You’ve been using entirely too many contractions. And my name.”

Hutch mentally shook himself. He straightened up and put the lid on the tin. “You are correct, Slave. We must both return to our roles.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Uncle said he wants to see me.”

Starsky began to sit up. “Let’s go.”

Hutch pushed him back down. “Not you, Davey. I will get you back to our room so that you can rest.”

“No way!” Starsky rolled onto his side. “There are people in this house who hate you, in case you hadn’t noticed. And others who do the bidding of people who hate you. You’re not goin’ anywhere without me! Master.”

“Point taken,” said Hutch, subdued.

“Good. Just give me a few minutes, I’ll be fine.” He smiled at Hutch and got a thin one in return. “Could I have a glass of that water, please?”

“Sure.” Hutch got up and poured, brought the tumbler and the pitcher back to the bed. When Starsky had drained the glass, Hutch refilled it and drank himself. Afterward, he put both items on the floor. “Are you sure you are up to this? I have no idea how long Uncle will keep us.”

“Don’t think I’ll be able to do presentation. Would obeisance be okay?”

“That is difficult, is it not?” 

“No worse than tryin’ to sit on my butt right now.”

“Rest for a few minutes then, while I try to remember where Uncle’s rooms are.” Hutch grimaced. “It would not do to have to ask directions.”

“Nope,” Starsky agreed. “Sure wouldn’t.” He put his head down on his arms and his partner’s strong hand stroked his back lightly. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he heard Hutch and the doctor talking quietly. 

“… inspired, Chris,” said Dominic, laughing. “I’ll never be able to look at a pommel horse as a simple gymnastics apparatus again.”

“I wanted to give everyone something to remember.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt you’ve done that, my boy.” The doctor sounded proud and pleased at the same time. 

Starsky opened his eyes. Hutch and the doctor were sitting in uncomfortable chairs on the far side of the room. Hutch became aware that he was awake. Getting up, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed again. “How are you feeling, Davey?”

“Much better, Master.” He started to try to sit up but both Hutch and the doctor, who moved quickly to the bed, restrained him.

“For the rest of the night, Chris’ Slave,” Dr. Dom said, “I think you’ll either have to stand or lie down, on either side, or your stomach.” Starsky knew he was being appraised. “I’d suggest the lying down option.”

“For a slave,” Hutch told the doctor, with a smile in his voice, “he can be awfully pig headed.”

“I got that impression,” said the physician, with a matching audible smile.

Starsky gratefully accepted help standing up and had to lean only a little against Hutch while he got his equilibrium back.

“You will have to walk, unassisted, Slave,” Hutch informed him, clearly for the doctor’s benefit. “Will you be able to manage?”

“Yes, Master.” To prove it he stood up straight, eyes downcast, and took a deep breath. His balance stabilized and he felt pretty good. 

Hutch clipped the leash to his collar and led the way out of the clinic. On the way past the table, he picked up the fresh tins of ointment and slipped them into his pocket.

“Take care of each other,” Dr. Dom called to their retreating backs.


	9. Chapter 9

Hutch led the way, slowly, through the corridors, wings, hallways and open spaces of the mansion. They passed very few people; it was late and almost everyone was probably in bed. He stopped once so that Starsky could rest, leaning against a wall, before continuing.

Don Augustino was waiting for them when they arrived, opening the office door himself to Hutch’s soft knock. Once inside with the door closed, Cominetti walked, a little unsteadily, behind his desk, motioning Hutch to a comfortable looking arm chair in front. Hutch sat and Starsky dropped to his knees at his right side, taking obeisance position: forehead on the floor, arms outstretched in front of him, butt elevated slightly off his heels.

He heard the Don’s chair being pushed back and a few scuffled footsteps before he saw polished black shoes appear peripherally. 

“That looks incredibly uncomfortable!” Cominetti huffed.

“It probably is,” Hutch agreed.

“Then for heaven’s sake, get him up from there! After the performance you two gave tonight, he deserves to be pampered, not punished again!”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Uncle.” Hutch got to his feet. “What do you suggest?”

“Shouldn’t he be in bed? Or in the clinic?”

“He will not be separated from me, Uncle. Believe me, I tried to get him to go to our room and rest but he would not hear of it.”

“I’ve seen devotion before but this is close to ridiculous! Tell him to get up!” The Don, sounded flustered, “I can’t stand to see him like that.”

Hutch leaned down and touched Starsky’s shoulder. “Stand, please, Davey.”

Starsky rose as gracefully as possible, keeping the groans inside. He stood next to Hutch, his eyes down.

“I’ve got a small bedroom next door.” Augustino led the way through a connecting doorway. 

The ‘small bedroom’ turned out to be larger than George’s suite had been at the hotel. On the sleeping platform was a king size waterbed. Hutch unsnapped the leash and helped Starsky lie down on his stomach. He almost giggled as his nipple and cock rings settled into the velvet cover and the diamond in the center of his chest nestled comfortably. 

Hutch sat on the rigid edge of the bed while Don Augustino went to the bedside phone and dialed a single number. “Sandwiches,” he ordered the person who answered, “fruit, and whatever’s left over from dinner. Water! Bring a full pitcher, plus three glasses.”

“Are you ready for more ointment, Davey?” Hutch leaned over him and kneaded his tight neck muscles. 

“Please, Master. But…” he added quickly, in a whisper, “don’t let me go to sleep this time, okay?”

The Don dragged an arm chair close to the bed and settled himself. Starsky turned his head on his arms so that he could watch both Hutch and the Don through his nearly closed lids. Augustino never took his eyes off Hutch who was applying the salve gently to each welt. 

“I’ve got to admit,” the Don said, after Hutch finished the treatment, “when you asked for the pommel horse, I thought you’d lost your mind.”

Hutch put the lid on the tin and placed it on the bedside table. “You are probably not the only one, Uncle.”

“Didn’t think we’d have time to get it set up and secured before your slave got back but we did.”

There was a discrete knock at the door which undoubtedly led to a hallway and the Don got up to answer it. Without allowing whoever was outside to see in, Augustino took a large tray, backed into the room and kicked the door closed. 

Hutch got up and brought a table over from under the window. Cominetti put the tray on the table and Starsky saw a mound of sandwiches, a plate of sliced fruit, a basket of left over dinner rolls, three glasses, and a large pitcher of ice water. The rolls still smelled delicious and Starsky was instantly ravenous.

Hutch sat down on the bed’s edge again and laid a hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “I can see you are hungry, Davey. What would you like?”

“A roll, please, Master?” He turned onto his left side and lifted himself onto his elbow. Although Starsky was perfectly capable of feeding himself, he kept his eyes down and waited while Hutch broke off a piece and fed it to him. It practically melted in his mouth and, even without butter, it was the best thing he’d tasted since… Well, he couldn’t remember since when. It sure was good though. 

“Who are you?” 

Hutch froze at the Don’s words. 

“I knew the minute I saw you yesterday,” Augustino went on, in an unperturbed tone of voice. 

“Is anyone else as observant as you are, sir?” Hutch asked.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Cominetti crossed his knees. “Chris and I were very close. I knew him better than anyone except his mother. I loved him more than I ever loved any of my sons.”

Starsky looked at Hutch and saw relief mingled with deep concern. His own feelings exactly.

“Is he dead?” was the Don’s next quiet question.

Hutch gave Starsky the rest of the roll and shifted his position so that he could look directly at Cominetti. Starsky quit acting as if he wasn’t supposed to be looking at him.

“No, sir,” Hutch replied. “At least we don’t think so. He’s at a clinic in Switzerland.”

“HIV?” The eldest Cominetti seemed to have aged years in moments.

“Yes, sir.”

“Damn.” The Don absently took a sandwich. “When Chris left, the light went out of my life. You see…” He looked at Hutch, then Starsky. “I was hoping he’d be able to keep Melissa reined in.” Apparently realizing that his guests were uncomfortable, to say the least, the old man gestured toward the tray. “Please, gentlemen, eat. You’ve both been through a strenuous and…” He looked directly at Starsky, “painful evening. Refresh yourselves. Don’t worry. I won’t betray you.”

Hutch put a plate on the bed next to Starsky’s chest and filled it with fruit slices, two sandwiches and three rolls. He ruffled Starsky’s hair before he filled a plate for himself.

“Something happened,” Cominetti continued, “at one of Chris’ sessions in the city. His lover was either killed or badly injured. He wouldn’t tell me. I never met the man, he didn’t live here in the house. But I know Chris loved him deeply.” He absently ate a slice of apple. “Chris arranged for much of his future inheritance to be diverted to a fund he set up. I assume it’s to care for this lover?” 

“His name is George.” Starsky didn’t know why he’d spoken. He only knew he needed to be part of the discussion.

“Thank you, young man.” Don Augustino sent him a genuine compassionate smile. “What is your name, please?”

Starsky almost blushed and he did lower his eyes for a moment. When he looked back up, he smiled, too. “Dave.”

Augustino nodded. “That’s good. Keep your real name and undercover name as close as possible.”

“You said you hoped Chris would rein Melissa in, sir.” Hutch brought them all back to topic.

“Yes, that’s what I hoped.” The Don selected another piece of fruit. “But his lover was hurt right before his mother died.” He looked at them, tears in his eyes. “And he didn’t want to be here any more.”

To fill the silence, Starsky ate his sandwiches. Hutch ate fruit and a roll. 

“She’s killing me, isn’t she?” Augustino asked, into the quiet.

Hutch swallowed and Starsky knew he hadn’t expected that direct a question. But then, they both knew Cominetti was no fool.

“We think she’s trying to, sir,” Hutch answered, honestly.

“Do you have any idea how?”

“Some sort of poison is our guess,” Starsky replied.

“And it is only a guess,” Hutch hastened to add. 

“The main course the first night.” The proverbial light went on in the old man’s head. “She didn’t want you eating the food that was on my plate. You’d have gotten sick.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hutch. “Davey noticed her feet jumping around under the table, nervously, when you suggested it.”

“Well spotted, Davey.” The Don smiled again. “So, where do we go from here? And…” he looked pointedly at Hutch. “You didn’t tell me who you are.”

“I’m Ken Hutchinson. My partner’s David Starsky. We’re here only because I bear a striking resemblance to your nephew.”

“And why is that, do you suppose?” the old man asked.

Hutch didn’t attempt to prevaricate, he looked directly at Cominetti. “My father, Richard Hutchinson, taught a few courses at the University of Minnesota during the years your daughter was there.”

“That could explain things.” The Don appraised Hutch and Starsky again. “Are you with the police?”

“We are,” Starsky told him, “but that’s just a coincidence.”

“We’re detectives in Southern California,” Hutch explained. “A little over a month ago, we were approached by a task force of Interpol, RCMP, FBI and DEA agents,” Hutch took a bite of his roll, not looking at the Don. “They’ve been trying to take the family down for a long time.”

“I know,” Augustino said. “And believe me when I tell you I’m ready to help them.”

Starsky, an apple slice half way to his mouth, stopped and stared at Cominetti. Hutch nearly choked on his roll.

“I’m so sick of the way Melissa and her cohorts have perverted this entire family, I could scream.” He put the plate with his unfinished sandwich back on the tray, got up and began to pace the room. “I’m not proud of much of our history, we got into unsavory activities long ago. But we had enough legitimate businesses and did enough good for the country that I managed to convince myself we were no worse than any other extremely wealthy, powerful corporation or organization.” He stopped and turned to them. “Then Melissa started taking power and things began to change.”

He came back and sat down, heavily. “At first, it was almost unnoticeable and I was busy with other things. However, when Chris started telling me what she was doing, and the way she was gathering people he didn’t care for into her select group, I paid more attention.” 

He sat back in his chair and seemed to slump. “Unfortunately, that’s about the time Chris’ lover was hurt, Angela died, and Chris left.” He looked, beseechingly at Starsky and Hutch. “I haven’t been able to regain control since. Melissa rules here now in almost every sense of the word.” He chuckled, without humor. “Guess that’s why she figures she can kill me off and no one will say anything.”

“Isn’t there anyone else in the family, sir,” Starsky asked, “who could challenge her? If you let it be known that you weren’t happy with the way she was doing things?”

“I wish there were, son. But she seems to have driven away or subverted everyone I might have chosen.”

“We were wondering, sir…” Hutch broached the sensitive subject. “Where are the children? Starsky and I wandered the whole place this morning and we didn’t see anyone under about twenty.”

“They don’t live here any more.” The Don laughed harshly. “Another of Melissa’s edicts. She said they needed more strict supervision. Everyone under sixteen lives at our estate in the city. And the older ones aren’t allowed back unless they’re part of her cadre.” The elder man’s eyes turned cold and his voice hardened. “She’s using the children though.”

Starsky realized they were probably getting to the ‘child porn’ part. “How so?” 

“I’ve only just recently discovered it myself, which is why I haven’t put a stop to it yet. I haven’t figured out how.” Cominetti’s face was anguished and his voice almost broke. “They’re the stars in her kiddie porn films and publications.” He lurched to his feet and began pacing again. “She brings a few at a time out from the city and makes her damnable flicks in the West Garage. She calls it her production studio.”

“We saw it this morning,” Hutch said. “There were guards and we weren’t allowed in. Are they filming now?”

“No. They all left a month ago. Won’t be back until next week, I’m told. I had hoped to figure out how to stop it by then.” He turned and looked at them. “That garage used to house my car collection.” He shrugged. “‘s why it’s called a garage.” 

Starsky perked up and the Don noticed his interest. “You like cars, Dave?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

Cominetti smiled. “I’d love to show you mine someday. They’re all moldering in a warehouse in the city now. Melissa had them moved, said they were taking up too much valuable space.” His shoulders drooped. “They were my babies.” He smiled reminiscently. “Paid more attention to them than I did to my wives.” He lifted his once massive shoulders. “According to my wives.”

He walked to the window and, although it was pitch dark, he gestured outside. “Every weekend when the weather was decent, I’d take the kids for rides.” He cast a keen glance at Starsky. “There’s an exact duplicate of a four point eight mile section of the Nurburgring out there. Did you know that?”

“No sir!” Starsky was impressed; how cool was it that there was a race track on the grounds? Holsten’s information had never mentioned it and the satellite photos had concentrated on the buildings.

“The children loved it. We’d stage mock races and have a wonderful time.” He turned back excitedly. “I have an original Stanley Steamer.”

“No shit?” The words were out before Starsky could stop himself. He ducked his head when Hutch tossed him an exasperated look. “Is that right, sir?” he amended.

Augustino threw his head back and laughed. “I like your partner, Ken Hutchinson!”

“Thank you, sir. I like him, too.” Hutch ruffled Starsky’s hair.

The Don sat back down, suddenly looking very tired and worn. “Will you both help me? I need to figure out how to depose Melissa and if it means the family has to fall, so be it.”

“I think the first thing we need to do…” Hutch put his plate on the table, “is stop her attempts to kill you.”

“Does Dr. Dominic know you’re ill, sir?” Starsky asked.

Augustino shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him.”

“Is he someone you trust?” Hutch didn’t like asking but he and Starsky had to know. “Or is he in Melissa’s camp?”

“No!” The Don’s answer was unequivocal. “Claudio’s been with me since we were children. There’s no one, other than Chris, I trust more.”

“Can you call him, sir?” Hutch gestured toward the phone. “Would he come at this time of night?”

The Don picked up the receiver. “Of course he’ll come.”

*******

A short time later, Dr. Dominic had drawn another chair close to the bed. He held a plate with a half sandwich and a few slices of apple on his knees but wasn’t eating. “I’d begun to suspect something was wrong, Gus.” 

“I know, and I cut you off every time you tried to talk to me about it.”

“Could it be hemlock poison, Doctor?” The doctor and Cominetti looked at him, startled. “Starsky and I were out on the North Lawn this morning and we noticed what I suspect is conium maculatum growing under the real hemlocks along the east border.”

“Good Lord,” the doctor exclaimed. “Growing right here on the property?” Hutch nodded. “I really need to get out more!” He turned to Cominetti. “What symptoms, other than those I’ve noticed, do you have, Gus?”

“How do I know what you’ve seen?” Almost instantly, apparently realizing his response had been uncalled for, Augustino hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Claudio. Tell me what you noticed.” 

“Nausea,” Dr. Dom replied, with clinical detachment. “You’ve left the dinner table rather precipitously, pale and perspiring, several times lately. And there’s been a certain instability in your walk, as if your feet weren’t behaving normally.”

“I can’t feel them sometimes,” Cominetti admitted. “And my fingers go numb.”

“Any trouble breathing?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“It could be conium. But if it is, she’s being very careful in her dosage,” Dr. Dom decided. “It’s deadly but she’s being cautious.”

“Is there an antidote?” Hutch asked.

“Hopefully, by simply making sure no more poison is administered, the body will flush the toxin by itself.” The doctor gazed sympathetically at his old friend. “Or at least the symptoms won’t get any worse.”

“Isn’t there something else you can do?” Starsky was outraged. Hutch put a hand on his shoulder.

“I think I read somewhere that strychnine has been used,” the doctor said, “but I’ll have to thoroughly research that.” He gave Starsky a thin smile. “Wouldn’t do at all to kill my friend while trying to cure him.”

“In the meantime, Don Cominetti --” Hutch began.

“Please, Nephew,” Augustino interrupted. “I believe you need to continue to call me ‘Uncle’.” He turned to the doctor. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, indeed.” The doctor nodded. “We all need to act as if nothing has changed.”

“Alright, Uncle… where do you eat breakfast?”

The Don appeared surprised at the question. “When I eat breakfast at all, it’s in the small dining room. I was there this morning but you didn’t see me. Cousin Marv was harassing you again.”

“And lunch?” Starsky asked.

“The same.”

“Everyone eats from the serving dishes at those meals,” Starsky noted. “Melissa can’t be poisoning them.”

Hutch looked at the doctor and Cominetti. “She’s doing it at dinner then. Those plates are prepared in the kitchen and brought to the tables. Are you served by the same waiter every night, sir?” 

“Yes,” the Don answered. “He’s new though, the past few weeks. I have no idea what happened to Ernesto.” He looked blankly at each of the faces watching him.

“Lemme guess,” Starsky said, “you began having symptoms after the new waiter appeared.”

The Don nodded with realization. “You’re right.”

“Tonight at dinner,” Hutch said, “we’ll announce that, because you haven’t been feeling well lately, you’ve asked me to personally prepare your evening meals. You’ve heard that I trained at Cordon Bleu during my travels and wish to sample my culinary skills. You and Dr. Dom believe a change of diet will be beneficial.”

Dominic and Cominetti looked at him skeptically. “And did you?” the doctor asked.

“Train at Cordon Bleu?” Augustino finished the thought.

“He didn’t need to,” Starsky quipped. “My partner could teach them a thing or two when it comes to cookin’!” Hutch took a playful swipe at his head. The two old men laughed and the tension was broken.

“And here’s another change I’ll suggest, Nephew,” said Cominetti, sitting up straighter. “Have Dave dressed from now on. And get him off his knees.”

Starsky’s jaw dropped. Hutch looked at the old man, stunned. The doctor looked pleased.

“You’ve made your point, Chris.” The word came easily off Cominetti’s tongue and he seemed to relish the sound. “You’ve impressed everyone with your devotion to this man, and his to you.” 

Starsky knew he was turning red and saw Hutch fighting the same condition. “Oh, well… we’re not… you see…” Starsky stammered. 

“That was a compliment, guys,” Dr. Dom grinned. “Accept it as such.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hutch smiled the smile Starsky loved to see. 

“It’s plain to everyone now,” the Don went on, “that you won’t be sharing his favors in a session, so there’s no need for him to be naked.”

“We won’t be attending any sessions at all, Uncle.” Starsky hid his surprise. “Although I haven’t talked about it with him, yet,” Hutch went on, his flush deepening, his gaze on his half-eaten sandwich, “I’ve decided I don’t want to share him.” The blue-fire eyes met Starsky’s. “With anyone. Ever.”

Starsky returned Hutch’s loving look, full bore and both barrels.

“That’s settled, then!” The Don practically leaped to his feet and strode around the room. “Today we’ll take the limo into the city and do some shopping before we visit my cars.” He smiled at Starsky. “I’m going to have a few of them brought back here. I want you to drive me around my race track, son!”

For the first time since he’d gotten on the plane in California, Starsky grinned his patented lop-sided smile. “It would be my pleasure, Don Cominetti.”

A solid knock on the door interrupted the sudden camaraderie. Dr. Dom got up and opened it slightly. Starsky couldn’t hear the words but the voice in the hallway was tense and strained. After a few moments the doctor closed the door and turned to face them. “It seems, Don Augustino, that your waiter has committed suicide. I must go.”

“We’ll all go,” the old man corrected.

Hutch helped Starsky stand up. “I don’t know what’s in that salve, Doc,” Starsky told Dr. Dom, “but it sure is great stuff.”

“I’m glad it’s helped.” 

Hutch kept hold of Starsky’s elbow but, after a corridor or two, he gently shook it off and dropped a pace behind and half a pace to the right. Hutch appeared put out for a moment but accepted Starsky’s decision and walked next to Augustino. Dr. Dom hurried ahead.

When they reached the kitchens, the chief baker was pacing, wringing his hands. He stopped when he saw Don Augustino. 

“Please tell us what happened, Emilio,” Augustino encouraged, kindly.

“I arrived at my usual hour, three a.m.,” the portly elderly man said, tears in his eyes and voice. “To begin preparations for the hundred loaves of bread, plus the dozens of pastries, pies and cakes the family and staff go through in a day.” He swallowed a sob. “I found the boy.” He wiped his eyes with a soggy handkerchief. “He’s my niece’s second cousin. Miss Melissa only brought him here three weeks ago.”

Starsky and Hutch looked to where the body of a young man was hanging in the entryway to the pantry. A rope was around his neck, tied around a beam in the ceiling.

“Isn’t that the kid who was our waiter the first night, Starsk?” Hutch asked, sotto voce.

“Hard to tell with the purple tongue and bulged eyes, but I think so.”

“It’s Paulo, the primary waiter at my table after Ernesto left.” Don Augustino nodded to the baker. “Thank you, Emilio. We’re all very sorry about this. I’m afraid you’ll have to work around him until we can get him down.”

Emilio bowed slightly, drying his tears, and headed off to rally his staff. Cominetti started toward the hanging figure. He was walking very slowly. 

“He didn’t get up there by himself, Hutch,” Starsky murmured.

“No, he didn’t. No chair, ladder or cabinet nearby he could have climbed on.”

“Stupid of the murderer,” the doctor observed. 

The Don approached the body, reached up and unclipped a note safety-pinned to the man’s white uniform jacket. He moved back to Starsky, Hutch and the doctor before he opened it. After reading, he handed it to Hutch. Starsky and Dr. Dom read over his shoulders.

In block printing on white paper it read:  
I ATTEMPTED TO POISON DON AUGUSTINO. I THOUGHT IT WOULD PLEASE MISS MELISSA. I WAS WRONG. I CANNOT LIVE WITH THE SHAME.

“Neat and tidy,” said Augustino.

“And bullshit.” Starsky didn’t try to keep the harshness out of his voice.

Cominetti appeared startled but Dominic put a hand on his arm and pointed to the hanging body. “Your nephew and his friend have pointed out that he couldn’t have gotten up there alone, Gus.”

To his credit, Don Augustino saw the truth immediately and paled. “That poor boy was murdered.”

“That ‘poor boy,’ Uncle,” Hutch repeated, “did try to kill you. Just probably not on his own initiative.”

“You’re sure he knew what he was doing?” Cominetti asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Starsky snuffed out most of his ire. “If only your dinner was affected, the kid, there, had to put the poison on just before he brought the dish out of the kitchen.” He glanced at Hutch for confirmation.

Hutch nodded at Starsky, then Augustino. “He knew.”

“I guess I don’t feel quite so bad then,” Cominetti admitted. “What do we do now?”

“I assume the family never calls the police?” Hutch asked.

“Never.” Don Augustino shook his head decisively. 

“Cut him down then,” Starsky said. “Tell his parents, if they’re here.”

“Call them, if they’re somewhere else.” Hutch looked at the doctor. “And bury him.”

“We may be able to get Melissa for murder later.” Starsky looked at Hutch and they nodded in sync. “After this is all over.”

Dr. Dom and Cominetti moved to do as Starsky and Hutch suggested and Hutch walked away from the grim scene. Instead of hanging back his customary pace, Starsky caught up and walked by his side. “Everyone knows by now about the switched plates, night before last. So this ‘suicide’ will be accepted at face value.”

“It was a risk though.”

“She couldn’t have him questioned,” Starsky pointed out.

“So instead of sending him away, like she probably did Ernesto, she had him killed.”

They walked a few corridors in silence. “When we’re in town today…” Starsky was thinking out loud. “Should we take the Don to meet Holsten?”

Hutch stopped in his tracks and turned to him. “That’s a good idea, Starsk. Melissa’s killing now, and trying to poison Uncle. There’s no time to lose.” They continued walking. “Especially if we want to bust the porno operation next week.”

“And we do.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hutch agreed, “we do.”


	10. Chapter 10

Don Augustino enjoyed the shopping trip almost as much as Starsky did. They visited several exclusive men’s stores and purchased more clothes than Starsky had ever had access to in his entire life. The Don preened like a proud uncle as Starsky modeled slacks, suits, shirts, sweaters, and then chose all the necessaries to go with them. Hutch tried to hide his proprietary smile but Starsky caught it and stored it away.

The outfit Starsky’d worn on the plane, and to town, was consigned to the bottom of a shopping bag. They were his own clothes, after all, and he wasn’t giving them up!

When they arrived at the warehouse full of cars, Starsky felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. “A Stutz,” he breathed with reverence, running a hand lightly over the curved fender. Studying the classic lines of the Bearcat, he almost missed the car behind it. When that one caught his attention, he grabbed Hutch’s arm. “My God, Hutch, it’s an AC Cobra.”

Don Augustino walked up next to him. “You know this car, Dave?”

“Not really, sir.” Starsky’s awe was plastered across his face. “I’ve read about them, and seen pictures. I’ve never been in the presence of one.” He looked at Cominetti. “It’s not a replica, is it?”

“No, Dave, it’s as real as Ford and Carroll Shelby could make it.” The Don strode through the warehouse like a proud papa, feeding Starsky’s hunger for knowledge about the automotive masterpieces. After due consideration, and with Starsky’s eager input, the Don told his chief mechanic to prepare the Cobra, the Stanley Steamer and the Stutz Bearcat for transport to the estate. They needed to be checked over thoroughly first though, because they would be driven! The mechanics cheered this news.

*******

“Is there anything else you two would like to do while we’re in town?” the Don asked, leaving the warehouse.

Hutch exchanged a glance with Starsky “Now that you mention it, Uncle…”

“We’d like you to meet the Interpol agent who’s in charge of this operation,” Starsky finished.

Don Augustino stopped. He appeared uncertain but soon straightened his shoulders and looked determinedly at Starsky, then Hutch. “Where?”

As they approached the limo, Milton opened the rear passenger door. 

“Do you know where McCadden Place is, Milton?” Hutch asked the chauffeur.

Milton straightened up, clearly surprised. “I do, Mr. Chris.” He cast a quick look at Cominetti, who nodded that he should go on. “Miss Maria’s doctor has an office on that street. I’ve dropped her off there several times.” He cast a worried look at the Don again. “She’s not awful sick, is she, Don Augustino? I mean, she’s such a sweet lady, I’d really hate for her to be --”

Hutch put a comforting hand on the concerned man’s shoulder. “She is getting better, Milton. Much better.”

The driver beamed. “Oh, I’m so glad, Mr. Chris.”

Augustino, Hutch and Starsky got in the back of the Lincoln. Milton closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side.”

“Take us to her doctor’s building, please Milton,” said the Don, after the big car had pulled out of the warehouse parking lot.

*******

The Don walked into the travel agency first and the receptionist jumped to her feet. “Don Augustino!” Her voice was trembling. “No one told us you were coming here today.”

Cominetti smiled beatifically. “Bernice, isn’t it?” She nodded, a flush rising to her pretty face, and appeared ready to genuflect. He reached out a hand and took both of hers. “You’re my great granddaughter, aren’t you, my dear?” 

Starsky traded a rolled-eyes look with his partner. Hutch was obviously becoming as enamored of the old scoundrel as he was.

Poor Bernice couldn’t get an intelligible word out. 

Hutch stepped forward when the Don released her hands. “Miss, we’re here to see --”

A side office door opened and Holsten beckoned to them. Hutch led the way, followed by Cominetti. Starsky closed the door of Holsten’s small office behind him.

Furnished with a utilitarian desk, a swivel chair behind it, several file cabinets, and four folding guest chairs, the room was Spartan, at best. Holsten held out a hand to Cominetti. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Don Cominetti. My name is Georg Holsten.”

“You’re with Interpol?” Augustino asked.

“I have that honor, sir. Please…” Holsten gestured to the chairs. “Won’t everyone have a seat?” He went behind his desk, picked up the phone and punched two buttons. “Tomas, if you please?” He put the phone down.

Within seconds, Constantine opened what was probably a hallway door. Holsten didn’t make introductions. 

“Go to the house and bring… the package,” Holsten said. “We need to put our cards on the table.” 

Starsky could tell Holsten was still holding something back but this was his show after all. He sent Hutch a raised-eyebrows look, and received a ‘we’ll see’ return glance.

Constantine bowed out of the door and closed it behind him. 

“I can send out for coffee, gentlemen,” Holsten offered, “if you’d care for some.”

“No, thank you, Agent Holsten. I’d like to get right to business, if you don’t mind.” The Don settled back in his chair and crossed his knees. “I understand you and your task force are committed to putting an end to my family’s criminal enterprises.”

If Holsten was surprised, it didn’t show. Starsky smothered a smile. He knew the agent was nothing if not cagey.

“That is the plan, Don Cominetti, yes, sir,” Holsten admitted.

“Good!” He truly did sound pleased at the prospect. “Well, my… ‘nephew’ here, and his partner, have some things to tell you.”

For the next twenty minutes, Hutch and Starsky told the Interpol agent almost everything that had happened since their arrival at the Cominetti estate. Hutch omitted the ‘entertainment’ from the night before and Starsky was grateful. 

Hutch was specific though, about the people clearly aligned against them. They related the details of the waiter’s murder, handing over the ‘suicide’ note. After that, they explained about Augustino’s ill health and that they, as well as Dr. Dominic, believed Melissa was slowly poisoning him. 

The Don’s poisoning and the waiter’s death clearly bothered Holsten a great deal. But he seemed to put them to the back burner when Hutch began to tell him about Adelaide’s diary. “Ah, yes. Maria’s tried to explain that. But she’s never brought it with her and, from her description only, we weren’t sure how much benefit it would be.”

“Well,” Starsky said in his best diplomatic voice, “Hutch and I think it’ll be a great big help to us.”

“You see, Agent Holsten,” Hutch continued immediately, “you neglected to mention the fact that there are many people in the household that aren’t fond of Melissa and her cohorts. And that they might be willing to help us when the time comes.”

“Detective Hutchinson, Detective Starsky…” Holsten’s voice carried all his years of experience and authority when he drilled a look at each of them. “As you already know, I never divulge anything unless I believe it to be vital.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Starsky caught Hutch’s exasperated sigh. He almost laughed, but managed to suppress it.

“More importantly though,” Holsten resumed, “what if I had given you that information? It’s possible that, knowing a form of backup was available on site, that you weren’t completely on your own, you might have been a little less vigilant.” He stared unrelentingly at Hutch, then Starsky. “I was not going to be a party to either of you getting hurt or killed because you got careless.”

“Good point.” Starsky cast a rueful look at his partner. Hutch nodded.

“If you three are through castigating each other, I have something to say.” Cominetti uncrossed his knees and sat forward, addressing the Interpol agent. “I want you to put a stop to Melissa’s use of my family’s children.” When Holsten didn’t respond, the Don continued, his voice strained but firm. “She’ll be bringing her so-called production company back to the estate next week, to make more films and take pictures for her diabolical magazines.”

Holsten took a pad of paper and a pen from a desk drawer. “Tell me everything, Don Cominetti.”

“The first thing you should know,” Augustino began, “is that she sends almost everyone in the house away before the crew comes. Probably doesn’t want to take a chance that someone will stumble onto her operation.”

“Where do they all go?” Hutch asked, plainly astonished at the implications. “You must be talking about two hundred people, Uncle. At least!”

“More, I’d think,” the Don replied. “She has each person from her inner circle pay a visit to her distributors and suppliers, make new contacts, refresh old ones, anything to get them away from the mansion. No two go together and no two visit the same city. They fly all over Eastern Canada, the U.S. and Europe during that week, but it’s all to her strict schedule.”

Starsky caught Hutch’s attention. “Servants, Hutch, they know almost everything about the people they take care of.”

Hutch nodded agreement. “I’ll bet they could tell Maria exactly where each of Melissa’s associates will be going.” 

“Once we know where they’ll be,” said Holsten, a gleam in his voice, “our task force agents could be waiting for them and snatch them all.” 

“At the same time your group busts the porn studio,” Starsky finished.

“No one could call anyone else and alert them,” Hutch noted. “Not if they’re all in custody.”

“You say Melissa sends her circle out of town…” Holsten finally looked up from his writing. “But it’s my understanding, from Maria, that not everyone in the family is a member of her group.”

“No, definitely not!” the Don replied. “I’d say she has only about fifteen serious followers.”

“Where do all the others go, Don Cominetti?” Starsky asked. 

“Most come into town and stay at the estate here, with the children, or at hotels. They do whatever shopping they need to do, go to the theater, eat out, whatever people do when given time off.”

“What about the household staff, Don Augustino?” Hutch asked. “Do they leave, too?”

The old man nodded. “Since the house is nearly deserted, Melissa gives the staff and workers the week off.”

“And where do _they_ go?” Starsky was trying to grasp the logistics. “I’m picturing hundreds of vehicles in and out of the gate.”

“Most of them have homes in a village just west of the compound,” Cominetti told them all. “And they have three former Greyhound busses they use when going back and forth.”

“That would sure cut down on traffic,” said Hutch.

“I discovered everything I’ve just told you,” Cominetti continued, “last month but it was way too late to attempt to do anything about it then. I was determined that this month I’d have a plan and Melissa would never roll a camera again.” He took a deep breath and put his hands up in a gesture of futility. “Until Chris’ double turned up on my doorstep three days ago though, I had no idea how I would accomplish that.”

“Let me make sure I have things right,” said Holsten. “Next week…” he looked at the Don. “Monday?” 

“Yes. The crew arrives at about ten o’clock. Everyone will be gone by that time. Most of them on Sunday.”

“All right,” Holsten made another note. “Beginning Monday, the Cominetti enclave will be very nearly deserted.”

“Practically a ghost town,” agreed the Don. “I stay, of course, and my two retainers, a skeleton staff and a few cooks.”

Starsky looked at his partner. This was beginning to sound almost too good to be true. Maybe they wouldn’t need to endanger many of the right-page people after all.

“Would my task force be able to gain entrance?” Holsten asked the Don.

“I know my personal guards, Bert Carter and Joe Martini, will do whatever is necessary to see that nothing stands in your officers’ way.” Cominetti’s face showed nothing now except rigid control and anticipation.

“Carter and Martini are White Hats, Holsten,” Hutch told the agent.

Holsten looked at Hutch blankly.

Starsky smiled. “Adelaide’s diary. You really should give it more credit.”

“So,” Holsten went on, making more notes, “Carter and Martini will make sure the gates are open to us.” He looked up at Cominetti. “How do the children arrive?”

“They’re brought up in a bus, shortly after the crew. I’ve been told Melissa doesn’t want them kept waiting too long before filming begins. She says it ruins their performance.” His eyes blazed and he clenched his fists. “So she brings them in last, only when everything is set up and ready.”

“What about this, Agent Holsten,” Hutch said. “You have your task force hidden on the fringes of the estate, out of sight of everyone leaving and those coming in. Stay in contact with each other and as soon as the film crew has gone in…” He stopped and stared at Starsky for a moment. “Wait… I’m missing something…”

Starsky figured he knew what was bothering his partner. He turned to the Don. “What kind of vehicles does the production company arrive in, Don Augustino? And how many? Do they all come together?”

“A dozen motor homes. And, yes, they do. It’s where they all stay during the week, they never enter the house itself.” Cominetti’s voice was now full of disgust and loathing. “As for cameras, lighting equipment, furnishings, and everything else they need, it’s already in the West Garage.”

“The children come later, right?” Hutch asked. “In their own bus.”

“Yes.”

“Agent Holsten,” Hutch turned back to him. “Starsky and I realize this is your operation but we’ve been inside the compound.” He glanced at Starsky.

“We’ve been in similar situations, too, sir,” Starsky added, backing his partner to the hilt.

Hutch nodded his appreciation and turned to Holsten again. “You could have your men hidden on the roads. Once the RVs have passed, some of your guys go inside and arrest the crew. When the bus arrives, secure it outside the gates and keep the children safe.”

“Hutch and I will be in the hallway --” Starsky continued.

“You won’t be anywhere without me, young man,” Cominetti interrupted. “I’ll be there with you. I want to see Melissa’s face…” he turned to Holsten, “when you put the cuffs on all of us.”

“We’ll see who gets cuffed, Don Cominetti.” Holsten offered a small smile.

There was a brief knock on the door and Constantine pushed it open. Receiving a nod from Holsten, he came in. He was followed by a reasonably tall man dressed in an overcoat, slouch hat and sunglasses. Work boots stuck out from under the long coat. 

Pickering brought up the rear.

Constantine stepped to the side and accepted the outer garment when the man removed it. The sunglasses were next, then the hat, revealing what was quite obviously a wig. It was brown, stringy, and worthy of a fright shop. 

Don Cominetti was on his feet by the time the man took off the fake hair. “Chris!” Augustino flung his arms around his nephew, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks.

Hutch stood up, the look on his face one of surprise, disbelief, suspicion and possibly affection. Starsky couldn’t take his eyes off his partner. Hutch was staring at this new person who was, most likely, his half brother.

Chris wrapped his long arms around his uncle, returning the embrace. 

Cominetti broke away at last and held his nephew at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “Are you well, my boy?”

“Probably as well as I’ll ever be, Uncle.” 

“A few more chairs, please, Tomas,” Holsten requested. “We all have things to talk about.”

Constantine stepped out and brought back two folding chairs. He sat in one just inside the door. Starsky took the other and sat next to Hutch. Chris and the Don got as comfortable as possible in chairs next to each other. Pickering sat in the last.

“This is your ‘package,’ right, Agent Holsten?” Starsky knew his sarcasm was showing and didn’t care.

Holsten pointedly ignored Starsky’s question and tone of voice. “Chris contacted Interpol as soon as he got to Europe after leaving Toronto. He wanted to help us take Melissa down.” 

“I didn’t want to do anything to hurt my uncle,” Chris explained to the faces around him, “but I knew Melissa couldn’t be allowed to destroy the family. I helped Agent Holsten get information on her contacts, distribution centers and suppliers in a number of cities. I also arranged for the video tape of that session in Denmark. I wanted Interpol to know everyone in that group.”

“Chris was instrumental in helping us put together a picture of Melissa’s network all over that part of the world.” Holsten cast an approving, almost paternal look at Hutch’s double.

“Unfortunately,” Chris went on, solemnly, “not too long afterward, I was diagnosed as HIV positive.”

“We found the clinic for him and got him admitted,” Constantine said. “He’s been incommunicado ever since. We’re the ones who have been sending the cards and souvenirs.”

“Another piece of information that wasn’t vital for us to know, right?” Hutch asked Holsten, matching Starsky’s earlier sarcasm.

“Just so, Detective.” The agent still didn’t sound repentant.

“I hadn’t been in touch with anyone in a long time,” Chris said, “so nobody knew I was getting ready to leave the clinic. I made sure no one would recognize me and went to the Interpol office in Bern.” 

“They contacted me,” Holsten told Starsky and Hutch. “Chris and I talked. He came here. It was the same day you two arrived. We got him into the country under a false identify and in disguise. We’ve had him sequestered. No one in the Cominetti family could be allowed to suspect that the ‘Chris’ they had welcomed home wasn’t the real one.” 

“I’d never want to hurt you, Uncle,” Chris told Augustino, “but I’m more than ready to do whatever I can to see that Melissa’s reign ends.”

“We’re all here for the same reason then, Chris,” Don Cominetti said. He gestured around the room. “We were just talking about that very thing.”

“Bring me up to speed, please,” Chris urged. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

“First though, Nephew,” Augustino said, “tell us how you are. Did that clinic… cure you? Are you free of the virus?”

“Unfortunately, no, Uncle. There may never be a cure. But the clinic has come up with a suite of drugs. I take them at specific times of the day, and in specific combinations.” He shrugged, fatalistically. “They will, hopefully, maintain my health and allow me to fight off the multitude of diseases and infections I’d be susceptible to without them.”

“Forgive me, Chris,” Holsten said, sounding uncomfortable, “you and I talked about this but others in the room haven’t heard your answer. Are you contagious?”

Chris smiled, thinly. “Not unless someone with an open wound or sore comes in contact with one of my bodily fluids. And believe me, Agent Holsten, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Thank you.” Holsten was plainly a little embarrassed.

Chris fastened his ice-blue eyes on Hutch. “You’re my brother, aren’t you?”

Hutch never blinked, but Starsky was aware of his partner’s tension. “More than likely.” Hutch studied his probable relative while everyone waited. “I tried to be the best you I could, Chris. Hope I haven’t done anything that’ll embarrass you.”

“From what Agents Holsten and Constantine have told me, Detective,” said Chris, appreciatively, “you’ve done a great job.”

“I notice, though,” Hutch continued, “that you’re using contractions. I practiced for weeks to break myself of that habit.” He darted a smile at Starsky. “With my partner’s helpful nagging.” He looked back at his double. “What changed?”

Chris appeared momentarily embarrassed but shed it quickly. “I changed. I realized that I’d been pretending to be someone who was better than his peers and family. I thought, if I spoke in whole words, it made me better than everyone else.” He shrugged and Starsky shivered to see the duplication of the move he knew so well. “The day the doctors informed me I was HIV positive, I gave up that pretentious affectation.”

“I’m glad!” Hutch sighed, with exaggerated relief. “It was getting to be a drag!”

Everyone laughed. Chris smiled the exact same smile Starsky had seen almost every day for the last twelve years and he shivered again. It was downright spooky. 

“We’ll have to talk.” When Hutch nodded, Chris wrenched his gaze away and focused on Holsten again. “How can I help?”

“For now, Chris,” Holsten began, “you’re our ace in the hole. We’ll ask you to continue to stay here in town, in disguise, at Marc’s house,” he nodded at Pickering, “while Detective Hutchinson goes back to the compound with his partner and Don Augustino. We’ve been talking about a plan to take down Melissa’s production company next Monday.”

“I want to be there when you do, Agent Holsten,” said Chris, with fervor. “I don’t care what job you give me, I need to be there.”

“We’ll find something, Chris,” the agent replied. “I promise.”


	11. Chapter 11

The moment Starsky walked into their room at the mansion, he knew they were in trouble. Hutch, a step ahead of him, his arms loaded with packages and garment bags, had pushed open the door and entered first. Starsky had an armload of boxes. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw a figure swing something heavy-looking at his head. “Master!” he shouted, dropping and rolling. His precipitous move caused the blow intended for his head to miss him entirely.

Hutch threw his parcels at the face of the man coming out of the bathroom. It was Symes. Hutch punched him in the stomach with such force, the guy crumpled to the ground, buried under the designer boxes.

Starsky came to his feet in time to deflect Gadsdon’s next blow, caught the arm and lunged forward, head-butting the man in the face. He heard the nose break and felt blood splatter him from split lips. The guy screamed, grabbed his head and fell to his knees.

Spinning, Starsky saw Hutch connect a right cross to Cousin Arthur’s jaw, which was apparently made of glass. Belvedere went down without a sound.

Starsky turned to face Delgetti, who wasn’t even trying to disguise his anticipation at taking his hatred out on Chris’ slave. Without hesitation, Starsky kicked the big man in the balls, thankful he was wearing shoes. 

Marv screamed and collapsed, clutching himself.

Hutch walked to Starsky and put a hand on his arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Master.” 

Hutch looked down at the pathetic Marvin Delgetti. “Get up, Marv. Collect your silly gang and listen to me.”

Starsky stayed by Hutch’s side during the time it took for Cousin Marv to struggle to his feet and help Arthur up. Each of them kicked the other thugs until they stood, hunched over and bleeding. 

“I’m not the same man who ran away from you and Melissa two and a half years ago.” There was ice in Hutch’s voice. “I’ve grown up, I guess. At least, I’ve changed. I’m not afraid of you any more. Uncle and I had a long talk today. He’s asked me to stay and I’m staying.”

“What’s happened to your words,” Marvin gasped, his hands still covering his genitals. “You ain’t talkin’ the way you did before.”

“How observant of you, Cousin Marv. It was an affectation I’ve decided I don’t need any more. I’ve given up trying to impress you people. The old Chris is gone. I’m the new one. And I’m the one you’ll have to deal with.” Starsky opened the door that had gotten kicked shut at some point and Hutch motioned. “Get out.”

*******

Starsky walked beside Hutch into the courtyard that evening at five o‘clock. People’s mouths dropped open when they realized Chris’ slave was wearing clothes. Starsky had talked Hutch into letting him wear the collar though, and he wore it with pride. 

Melissa approached, a slick, insincere smile on her plastic face. “I hear that you and Cousin Marv had a falling out earlier, Chris. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not.” Hutch barely looked at her.

“Well…” Melissa soldiered on in her obviously rehearsed speech. “We’ve planned a full session of your former group in the city tomorrow night, to honor you and your slave. There are even a few new members. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Thoughtful of you, Cousin Melissa.” Hutch still didn’t look at her. “However, I no longer attend such functions.”

“Why not?” Melissa couldn’t keep the surprise out of her raised voice.

“I realized I’ve already found what I was searching for.”

“You can’t be serious!” Melissa transferred her venomous gaze to Starsky. “ _This_?”

“I am deadly serious, Melissa.” Hutch turned to stare at her. His eyes were glacial and his face as cold as Starsky could ever remember seeing it. “I would not share him with anyone, or allow him to be damaged…” Starsky was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that look, “as my previous lover was.”

Melissa took a step back. “Well…” she was definitely flustered. “If you change your mind, let me know.” She walked away, gathering the remnants of her dignity around her.

Hutch looked at the people staring at him, obviously stunned by the exchange with Melissa. “I have an announcement.” Silence descended. Hutch put his arm around Starsky’s shoulders. “As you know, this man is my slave, Davey.” Heads nodded. Hutch reached into the right breast pocket of his jacket and took out a folded document. He flipped it open and held it up for all to see. It had seals and calligraphy, a lot of official-looking printing, and a prominent signature. “This is the certificate of ownership I was given when I purchased him.” 

With solemnity, Hutch and Starsky each held a corner and tore the paper in half. A few members of his audience gasped. Hutch took both pieces of paper, crushed them, and put them in his pocket. “I declare that Davey is now a free man!” More gasps. “As such, he will never be naked in your presence again. He will sit at my side…” Hutch looked at Starsky, love in his eyes, “if he wishes.” Hutch dropped his arm. Taking the key out of his pocket, he moved behind Starsky and unlocked the collar. When he walked back around, he solemnly handed the key to Starsky, who slipped it in his pocket. 

Never breaking eye contact with his partner, Starsky removed the collar. Then, to everyone’s surprise, even Hutch’s it seemed, he put it back on. The opening was now at the front and Starsky snapped the padlock closed on the left hasp, leaving it dangling.

“Kiss him, Chris!” someone shouted. 

Hutch broke the look he shared with Starsky, to glare around the room. “My former slave is no longer an object for your derision or approval. Therefore, we won’t be providing entertainment. Seek your prurient pleasures elsewhere from now on.”

“Hear, hear!” shouted Dr. Dominic, walking up and standing next to Hutch. “I think we’ve all been treated to enough salaciousness for a while.” He raised his glass of iced tea. “I propose a toast: to David, a freed man.”

A few people applauded, some raised a glass.

“David Freedman,” said Hutch, wonderingly. “I believe you’ve done it, Dr. Dom! You’ve come up with Davey’s full name.”

“Excellent!” Don Augustino joined the group and raised a glass to Starsky. “Welcome to our family, David Freedman.”

Since the former slave had the Don’s official sanction, no one protested. They all saluted and sipped their drinks.

“Shall we eat, gentlemen?” Cominetti led the way into the dining room. Dr. Dom, Hutch and Starsky followed. 

Starsky’s welts were sore but he managed not to grimace when he sat in the chair next to Hutch, across from Cominetti. Marv, Melissa and Carl were not present and, searching the room circumspectly, Starsky couldn’t see them anywhere. 

“My former dinner companions seem to have made other arrangements,” said the Don, answering Starsky’s unasked question. “Fresh faces are in order, I think.” He got up and walked to a table near the edge of the room. Returning, he drew back the chair on his left for Adelaide Delgetti and the one on her left, for Maria.

A few murmurs were heard around the room when the Don seated a mere servant at his table. He stared the nay-sayers to silence. “Tonight, we begin a new regime. I will recognize service and faithfulness in whatever manner I see fit. Anyone who disagrees with my choices is free to leave this house, and my employ.”

Starsky noticed that no one got up and left. He smiled grimly to himself.

“I have news, Chris,” Cominetti said, while waiters began serving the first course. “Chef Andre sought me out when we got back from the city. He was distraught over the confession of the young waiter. He swore he had no idea such a thing was happening in his kitchen and offered to resign. I wouldn’t hear of it, of course.” He appraised the faces around the table. “Instead, we have the sworn loyalty of every member of the preparation and wait staff.” He lifted his water glass to Hutch. “Therefore, nephew, we won’t have to prevail on you to do service in the kitchen after all.”

“Permission to…” Starsky began, flushed, and shut up.

“You never again need to ask permission to speak, David Freedman,” the Don proclaimed, loudly enough for all the adjacent tables to hear. “Please, go ahead, what did you want to say?”

“Just that you’ll be missing some really great cooking, Don Cominetti.” Starsky watched the color creep up Hutch’s face. ‘No wonder I love him, he doesn’t have a disingenuous bone in his body. And I do love him. Can’t wait to get him in our room tonight and show him.’

The old man laughed heartily. “I doubt it not.” He turned to Adelaide. “Would it be convenient if Chris, David and I came to your rooms in the morning, my dear? I’m told you’ve begun writing a book about the family and I’d very much like to read any portions you’d allow me to.”

Adelaide Delgetti almost choked on her bite of salad. Maria patted her lightly on the back. “Yes, of course, Don Cominetti. It’s simply ramblings, but you’re more than welcome to read them.”

“Excellent! We’ll come by after breakfast then.” 

*******

“What do you want to do about your rings, Davey?” Hutch asked, with uncertainty, that night as they undressed each other. He put the little finger of his right hand into Starsky’s left nipple ring. 

When Hutch tugged, very gently, Starsky went willingly into his arms. “I don’t know. Things’ve been happening so fast I’m having trouble keeping up. We’re still undercover but I’m not a slave any more. We still have to bring Melissa and her gang down so we need to keep playing our roles. But…”

“I know. If you want them out though…” He pushed Starsky back a half step and bent to kiss each pert nub tenderly. “I’ll happily do it for you. Right now.”

Starsky moved back into the warm embrace. “Not yet. I want to keep them. At least for now.” He smiled into Hutch’s heating-up eyes. “I’m kinda gettin’ used to ‘em.”

“As you wish, Sir Knight.”

*******

The next morning, when Starsky and Hutch walked into the small dining room, Don Cominetti waved to them from a large corner table. Dr. Dom, Carter and Martini were already there.

Hutch, followed by Starsky, made the round of the serving buffets. Starsky was determined not to make a pig of himself with the crepes this time; he took only two, for ‘dessert.’ With filled plates, Hutch led the way to the Don’s table.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Cominetti greeted them. 

Conversation was light and non-specific until everyone had eaten his fill. 

“Bert and Joe here,” the Don began, quietly, when all plates were clean, “have joined our forces.” 

“You had us fooled, Dave,” Carter said, sounding almost embarrassed.

“Sure did,” Martini agreed. “I’ve heard of some hairy undercover work before but nothing even close to this.”

“Thanks, guys.” Starsky lifted his juice glass toward them. “You both helped me a lot that night.”

The retainers laughed. “Just don’t ask us to watch you go through all that preparation again,” said Martini.

“Never,” Hutch vowed.

“They’ll be talking today,” Cominetti went on, “with everyone they’re positive will support us. We’re going to make sure a few White Hats are left in the house Monday morning.”

“And that we’ve identified every one of the Black Hats that will still be here,” Carter added.

“Do Melissa and her cronies carry weapons?” Starsky asked.

The Don, Carter, Martini and Dr. Dom all looked at each other, plainly none having the answer. “Not that we know of,” Carter replied.

“The ones guarding the hallway entrance to the garage do,” Hutch told them. “Davey and I saw them Tuesday morning.”

“Then I suppose it’s possible,” the Don had to admit. “I was hoping that whatever happened on Monday wouldn’t be violent.”

“We’ll try to make sure it isn’t, Uncle,” said Hutch. “But it’s good to know who could be potential threats.”

Carter and Martini pushed their chairs back and stood up. “Joe and I have things to do, Don Augustino. We’ll see you at lunch.”

As they walked away, the Don, Starsky and Hutch also stood and made their way out of the dining room.

*******

Cominetti read through Adelaide’s diary slowly. Starsky, Hutch, Adelaide and Maria sat quietly during the process, drinking coffee.

“You have so many more White Hats to write about,” said the Don, at last looking up from the book, “you had to keep rambling on about Black Hats so that it isn’t obvious you’re only writing on right-hand pages.” He checked the book again. “I notice you devoted quite a number of left-hand pages to your former husband.”

Adelaide squared her shoulders, defiantly. “Every word I wrote is the truth, Don Augustino. I swear I never --”

The old man raised a hand. “That was an observation, my dear, not a criticism.” He turned solemn. “I’m glad he has none of my blood in his veins.”

“Many of the good guys are only mentioned on one right-hand page,” Hutch pointed out, “because Adelaide had so many to identify. It’s most of your family and household, Uncle. You have the loyalty and trust of everyone except Melissa and her disciples.” 

“Your family is strong, Don Cominetti,” Starsky said. “If the RCMP and Interpol can get rid of the bad apples, you might be able to keep your legitimate businesses going.”

The Don looked at him with thanks in his eyes, but determination on his face. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the best happens, David, but expect the worst. I’m responsible for whatever’s done in my name and, unfortunately, Melissa has done terrible things.”

“She’s about to get stopped in her tracks,” Hutch said with conviction.

*******

That afternoon, after lunch, Starsky and Hutch joined Dr. Dom in the carefully supervised removal of every conium maculatum from the edges of the North Lawn. “I had no idea…” the doctor protested, loudly, for the benefit of the workers, “that these were here. Such a danger, to everybody!”

“Why would anyone plant ‘em in the first place, Doc?” a heavily protected worker asked, digging at the roots.

“Yes, why?” the doctor repeated, apparently pondering. 

“They’re pretty,” Hutch offered, innocently, “with those lacy leaves and white flowers. Maybe whoever put them there didn’t know what they were.”

“Of course, that must be it,” the physician agreed.

“What are you going to replace them with, Dr. Dom?” Starsky asked. “It’s going to leave a great big empty space when they’re gone.”

“Almost anything except oleanders.” Dominic hid a smile.

*******

The cars arrived late that afternoon and were taken to the pit area of the race facility. Hutch, Carter and Martini hung back while Starsky and the old man walked around the museum-worthy pieces of machinery.

“We’ll drive around the track in the morning, David,” said the Don. “If any repairs need to be made, they’ll have time to cure before we take the Cobra over them at speed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you and Chris trust me to drive you in the Steamer?” Augustino appeared unsure of what their answer would be, although it was clear he’d be crushed if either declined.

“We’d be honored, Uncle,” Hutch answered. He exchanged nods with a grinning Starsky.

“Sir…” Carter ventured. The Don gestured for him to continue. “Sir, with everything that’s been going on lately, wouldn’t it be a good idea if Joe or myself stayed here with the cars tonight?”

Starsky caught Hutch’s sharp look and returned it. Neither of them had, as yet, thought of that and he realized they should have. “Good idea, Bert.”

“Nobody stays with my babies, Don Cominetti,” the chief mechanic said, “except me and my boys.” He gestured to his two assistants. “If somebody tries to sabotage these beauties they’re gonna be sorry.”

The Don put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Well spoken, Freddy. And I accept your offer.” He waved toward the buildings behind the pit wall. “There are some accommodations here, but will you be comfortable in them?”

“We’ll be fine, Sir. There’s bunks in the big hauler. Just send us down some dinner and we’ll be great!” He turned away, then turned back again. “Oh, and breakfast in the morning, if you please, sir.”

*******

That evening, during drinks before dinner, dozens of people managed to congratulate Hutch on his choice of companion and David on his freedom. Even Starsky’s natural skepticism couldn’t hear any sarcasm in their voices. 

Yes indeed, Adelaide’s diary was right, most of Cominetti’s family was behind him. Starsky didn’t want to read too much into it, but it sounded as if they’d be happy to see the last of Melissa and her clutch of rotten eggs.

*******

Without the need to ‘practice’ any longer, Starsky still found himself looking forward to the night. Role playing could be thoroughly enjoyable, especially if it only involved himself and his partner. 

Hutch dressed him in the collar, chains and gem and walked slowly around him while he maintained the best display position he’d ever achieved. Except for the grin he couldn’t wipe off his face, he knew it was picture perfect.

When finally ‘commanded’ to take presentation position, Starsky dropped to his knees and lovingly performed the belt removal he’d gotten so good at, and the zipper descent. He had to use his hands at that point, to remove shoes, socks, trousers and briefs. Hutch shed his jacket and shirt on his own, his cock growing and bobbing against Starsky’s hair.

“Shall we have the pommel horse brought in here, Davey?”

“Oh yes, please, Master.” Starsky took Hutch’s shaft down his throat. 

Hutch twined his long fingers in Starsky’s hair and moaned.

*******

The following morning, after breakfast, Don Augustino Cominetti took the wheel of his Stanley Steamer. Hutch insisted Starsky sit in the passenger’s seat, the better to inspect the track. Hutch stretched his long legs across the back seat. 

The racing surface was in amazingly good condition, considering Canadian winters and the fact that it hadn’t really been maintained since Melissa had moved all the cars out of the West Garage. Starsky found only a few cracks he suggested be filled. Don Cominetti set the workmen to the repairs immediately. Otherwise, Starsky had no reservations and couldn’t wait to get his hands on the steering wheel of the Cobra.

At lunch, Carter and Martini assured the other conspirators that the main gates would be wide open on Monday morning when the task force agents needed entrance. 

Starsky and the Don spent the rest of the afternoon giving rides in the Stutz Bearcat and Stanley Steamer to anyone who asked. The repairs had been completed and were curing, so the Don and Starsky made sure to stay off those surfaces when they drove their passengers around. 

Hutch, Carter, Martini and the mechanics stood along the pit wall, listening to the very different engine sounds echoing off the hills surrounding the four point eight mile duplicate of the South Loop of the Nurburgring. Every time Starsky pulled into the pits for a passenger change, his partner’s smile was wider, his eyes bluer. 

For the final laps of the day, Starsky drove Hutch in the Cobra, not at speed, but only to get the feel of the car on the track. It was a bona fide racing machine the likes of which Starsky had never driven, and he didn’t want to feel and act like a complete novice when he drove the Don in the morning.

“Are you as happy as you look, Starsk?” Hutch asked, over the roar of the engine as Starsky down shifted for the hairpin turn. 

Starsky spared a brief moment to look at his smiling partner. “Yeah.” He returned his concentration to the track. “Considering the shit that could still happen, yeah! I am.”

Hutch rested a hand on the back of his neck. 

*******

The small grandstand behind the pits was crowded the next morning when the mechanics pushed the gleaming dark blue Cobra out of the garage. Its wide white hood and rear deck racing stripe shone in the sun; its polished twin chrome-plated roll bars gleamed.

Starsky discovered he was nervous and was glad he’d eaten a light breakfast. Hutch hugged him before shoving him playfully toward the left side of the car. “Go get ‘em, Mario.” 

On the passenger’s side, Carter held the door open for the Don, who folded his considerable height and bulk into the small passenger’s seat. Starsky belted up and so did Cominetti, cinching the restraints down tightly.

Hutch and Carter moved away with jaunty waves. 

Starsky fired up the 427 cubic inch engine, eased the clutch out and started down the pit lane toward the track. Starsky was still in first gear when Don Augustino began laughing. With Starsky accelerating, the laughter became deeper and more hearty. “You can’t imagine, David, what this means to me.”

“I think I can, sir. I’ve got a really vivid imagination.”

Starsky drove three full laps of the almost-five mile course, getting used to the car and beautifully engineered track. The crowd in the grandstand and the watchers in the pit lane cheered them each time they passed. At the beginning of the next lap, Starsky tightened his seat belt, determined to give the Don every penny’s worth of enjoyment he possibly could.

Down shifting for the hairpin, Starsky’s concentration was broken by a flash on the hillside ahead of them. Nearly simultaneously, asphalt kicked up next to the Cobra’s left front tire. “Hang on, Don,” he yelled, throwing the wheel hard into the turn. Another flash caught his peripheral vision barely before a bullet tore into his right side.

The car, already spinning, continued its revolution, with Starsky guiding it onto the gravel runoff area next to the exit of the curve. He kept the motor revved up and the tires churning, trying to generate as much dust as possible. Anything to keep the sniper from seeing where to shoot again. 

When the Cobra came to a stop at the back edge of the gravel, under cover of a tree overhanging the track retaining wall, Starsky heard a vehicle’s engine roar to life on the hill. He looked over at Cominetti. “Are you all right, sir?” 

Don Augustino sat up straight and took a deep breath. “Did I see a muzzle flash on the hill? Did someone just try to kill us?

“Yes, sir, pretty sure.”

Cominetti noticed the blood soaking the right side of Starsky’s jacket. “You’ve been hit!” 

Starsky put the car back in gear and crept through the gravel trap. “We have to get back to the pits, sir. Can you hear that?” 

Augustino listened. “Sounds like a Jeep up on the access road. The assassin either thinks he’s taken care of us or he’s going after someone else.”

“Someone like your nephew.” Starsky ignored the pain beginning to lance through his side. He managed to extricate the car from the ‘kitty litter,’ and headed back around the hairpin in the wrong direction. He got the little car up to speed faster than he ever had before. Screaming into the pit lane, he slid the Cobra to a stop. “Sniper!” He fumbled with his harness. “On the hill. Everybody down!”

Hutch and Carter were already running toward the car. People in the grandstand and behind pit wall scrambled for cover. Carter opened the car’s passenger door, hit the quick release on the Don’s harness and hauled him over to the wall, covering Augustino’s body with his own. 

Hutch was reaching for Starsky’s door when another flash came from above the stands. Hutch flinched and crumpled.

Cominetti stood up, blatantly challenging the shooter. He waved at Carter, and Freddy. “Get up there!” He pointed at the top of the hill. “I want the son of a bitch that did this!”

Starsky fell out of the car next to Hutch. No more shots were fired and he heard the Jeep’s engine start up again. He knew the two men wouldn’t catch anyone.

Hutch was bleeding heavily from a long gouge in his right temple, and he was unconscious. 

Starsky gathered the bloody blond head into his lap. “Stay with me, Hutch. Ya hear me, babe? Please don’t leave me.”

Don Cominetti stooped next to Starsky and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Dom will be here in a minute, David. We’ll get you both to the hospital. You’ll be okay.”

Starsky didn’t bother to respond. He stroked his partner’s forehead and crooned to him. “I’m right here, partner. I’m right here.”


	12. Chapter 12

Don Augustino, Freddy and the other mechanics carefully loaded Hutch, followed by Starsky, into the large vehicle hauler, the one with bunks behind the cab. Dr. Dom had raided the track’s medical supplies and, with the truck racing toward the city, he applied yards of gauze to Hutch’s head. The bleeding took a long time to stop though. 

Starsky never took his eyes off his partner/best friend/master/lover. Pain-wracked and worried sick, he wondered how much more complicated this scenario could get.

Cominetti, using towels, kept pressure on the two holes in Starsky’s side. 

As soon as the bandage was secured around Hutch’s head, Dr. Dom turned his attention to Starsky. His jacket was carefully removed and his brand new, now ruined shirt cut away. A small, neat entry in his right side, just below his ribs, had stopped bleeding. The exit, above his hip, in back, was larger. That one began bleeding again when the towels were removed. 

Dr. Dom had Augustino hold two more towels to Starsky’s wounds. Having run out of gauze, he accepted Freddy’s offer of automotive duck tape and wrapped that numerous times around Starsky’s torso to hold the towels in place. “An assassin was on the access road, Gus?” Dominic asked the Don, while he worked.

“Apparently. David was down shifting for the hairpin when he was shot.”

“They tried to take out the left front tire first, sir,” Starsky said. “If they’d done that, the car would’ve rolled. Middle of the hairpin, left front blowout, nothing I could’ve done.” He attempted to shrug but it hurt. “We both might have been killed.” 

“Someone had it planned perfectly,” noted Dr. Dom.

“Only they weren’t as good a shot as they thought they were,” Starsky said, with no humor whatsoever. “They missed.”

“So they shot you,” Cominetti realized.

“Yes, sir. They shot me.” Starsky brushed a few silky strands from Hutch’s bandage. “Carter won’t find anybody on that road, you know.”

“No, I suspect you’re right, David,” said the Don.

*******

Starsky was able to stay reasonably calm when they got to the hospital because Don Augustino Cominetti immediately took point. He insisted on adjoining cubicles for his two family members as they were attended to. He moved constantly back and forth while Hutch and Starsky were examined, 

It made Starsky and Dr. Dom smile to watch Cominetti demand the best possible head wound specialist and internist be summoned. Starsky flatly refused treatment until he knew the results of Hutch’s x-rays. 

Pickering showed up to take Starsky’s statement while the waiting continued. “I’ll get all this information to Holsten,” said Pickering, after Starsky had told him everything he could remember. He put a hand on Starsky’s arm. “I guess we should have anticipated something like this but, honestly, I know I never did.”

“Not your fault, Pickering. Maybe we all got careless.”

“I doubt that, Dave. I think somebody else got desperate.” Pickering put his notebook and pen in his pocket. “Get some rest. I have to take Cominetti’s statement. I’ll check in with Dr. Dominic before I leave, make sure your partner’s going to be okay.”

When Dominic brought him the welcome news that Hutch had no skull fracture and no inter-cranial bleeding, Starsky agreed to a local anesthetic, and pain medication, while the new holes in his body were cleaned and sutured. He did have a high pain threshold but didn’t want to test its parameters any more than he already had.

As a doctor prepared his instruments and supplies at a cabinet, a young intern cut the rest of Starsky’s bloody shirt and folded the halves back. His eyes opened wide and his face flushed at the sight of the pair of nipple rings. “Wow!” The kid froze, his hands hovering over Starsky’s chest. “You got both done!”

“Uh, yeah.” Starsky really didn’t want to talk about it. The doctor looked in their direction before returning to his preparations.

“You must really love her.” The intern shook himself and began unbuckling Starsky’s belt. “You got one down here, too?” 

“Since you’re going to find it anyway.” Starsky shrugged. “Yeah. There’s one down there, too.”

The intern unzipped Starsky’s trousers and slid them down his hips. Then he removed the shoes and socks and pulled the pants off, all the while keeping his head down, supposedly concentrating on his work. But his voice couldn’t disguise his fascination. “My girlfriend’s been tryin’ to get me to have my nipples pierced. But I don’t think I’d even consider one of these.” He lowered the briefs and stood staring at the golden ring now revealed. “Wow.”

“Try to find some other way of convincing her you love her,” Starsky advised. 

“Really?” The intern removed the briefs before covering Starsky’s lower body with a sterile sheet. He moved back up near Starsky’s head, looking at him intently. “You had it done.”

Starsky sighed, not quite knowing what to say to this romantic young man. “It’s a long, complicated story.”

The doctor rolled his cart of supplies over next to the bed, looking pointedly at the intern. “Doctor Sarnoff, if you can’t pay attention to your duties in this room, I’ll have to get another assistant.”

The almost-a-doctor ducked his head and busied himself with filling another tray with gauze pads, tapes and other possible needs.

The doctor smiled at Starsky and shook his head, before he bent over the entry wound.

*******

“He’s gonna be okay, right, Dr. Dom?” Starsky was groggy after the doctor and his assistant had finished and gone. Dominic was sitting wearily in a chair next to Starsky’s bed.

“He’ll be fine, David. They may want to keep him here for a few days, just to be sure, but --”

“Not gonna happen, Doc.” Starsky tried to sit up. Dominic restrained him. “We’re bustin’ Melissa Monday morning.”

“I know that. I only said they may --”

Starsky tried to sit up again. “I gotta see him, Dr. Dom.”

The doctor pushed Starsky back down again. “If you tear your sutures out, Dave, you won’t be at the bust either!” Starsky subsided. “Your partner’s still unconscious. You can see him after he’s awake.”

“No, Doc, you don’t understand --”

Don Cominetti came into the room at that moment and helped Dr. Dom keep Starsky from getting up. “It’s only been a few hours, David. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

“I gotta be there when he does,” Starsky told both men. “If one of us wakes up in a hospital and the other isn’t there, we tend to make a fuss.”

“Sounds like you’ve had too much experience with things like this, son.” Cominetti put a calming hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

“Way too much!” Starsky covered the Don’s hand with his own. “But please, sir, you gotta get ‘em to let me stay in his room. Please?”

The Don looked at Dr. Dominic, who nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned and left.

“Thank you, sir,” Starsky called after him.

*******

Starsky overheard Cominetti arrange for a double room on the sixth floor of the wing he had donated a year earlier. Martini would stand guard outside their door, alternating shifts with Carter.

Hutch was moved in first, unconscious but resting well, according to the brain injury specialist that had been called in. “All the scans are normal and I expect your partner to be awake within the next several hours,” Dr. Yamato told Starsky during the procession from the ER level to their new accommodations. 

Starsky’s wheelchair was pushed by Don Cominetti himself and Augustino even helped get him out of the chair and into the bed next to Hutch’s. 

Martini stuck his head in the door. “Are you up for some company, Dave?” 

Starsky nodded, not really sure what he was agreeing to. Joe opened the door for Holsten, Pickering and the heavily disguised Chris. 

Dr. Yamato threw his hands up in despair. “I realize this is your wing, Don Cominetti, but hospital policy states only two visitors at a time.”

“Well,” said the Don, escorting the physician out the door, “I guess you’ll simply have to change the policy. Won’t you?” He closed the door behind the flustered specialist. 

Starsky gestured to Martini. “Joe, could you push my bed right next to Hutch’s please?” Martini and Dr. Dom did as asked. Starsky reached across the remaining space and put his hand on Hutch’s arm. “Hey partner, your brother’s here. Doncha wanna wake up an’ talk to ‘im?”

Hutch didn’t open his eyes. 

Holsten moved to the foot of Hutch’s bed, looking at the unconscious blond before turning his gaze to Starsky. “What happened out there, Detective?”

Behind Holsten, Chris removed his disguise. Pickering and the Don then got Hutch’s brother dressed in his partner’s bloody clothes. Pickering opened a bag of supplies and Dr. Dom began wrapping a duplicate of Hutch’s bandage around Chris’ head. Starsky’s fuzzy brain was getting a picture of what Holsten intended and he wasn’t liking it very much. “Sniper, Agent Holsten,” Starsky answered, bluntly.

“We were shot at as David took the car into the hairpin turn,” Cominetti explained. “There’s an access road around the entire track, in case emergency vehicles have to get to a blocked section. Someone was up there with a rifle.”

“And a silencer,” Starsky added.

“That’s right!” The Don appeared stunned, again. “I never heard a thing.”

“After they thought they’d taken you out,” Holsten speculated, “they hurried back to the pit area and shot the man they believe is Chris.”

“I’m havin’ a little trouble concentrating right now, sir,” Starsky said, hazily, “but that sounds about right.”

Holsten turned to Cominetti. “Have you heard if your guard caught up with the assassin?”

“Carter called a few minutes ago,” the Don reported. “Said they’d followed the tracks all the way to the east gates. The chains had been cut.”

“Misdirection.” Starsky rocked his head back and forth on the pillow. “Whoever’s behind this knew too much about the race track, how to get around it on the access road, the best place to force a roll-over, and where everybody would be. That east gate stuff is a distraction. I’ll bet the shooter’s already back at the estate.”

“You don’t sound to me like you’re having much trouble concentrating, son,” Holsten said, with admiration. “And you may very well be correct.” 

“Which means,” Starsky went on, “if you play your ace in the hole, send the real Chris back there, you could get him killed.”

“He’ll be protected, David,” said Augustino. “I assure you --”

Chris, looking as pale under the bandage as Hutch did, stepped forward. “I asked Agent Holsten to let me help, Detective. I appreciate your concern but I’m not afraid of my family any more.”

Starsky saw determination in the face that duplicated the one he loved and it made him both proud and scared. 

“Don’t forget, Dave…“ Martini sent him a sly grin. “He’ll be surrounded by White Hats. Bert and I, plus all the others, won’t let anything happen.”

“Please see that you don’t, okay?” Starsky begged. “Hutch would never forgive me.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Don Cominetti asked Holsten. “Nobody’s told me yet.”

“Chris will go back to the estate with you, Dr. Dominic, and Mr. Martini. You’ll tell everyone that the gash has been stitched and Dr. Dom is capable of any further treatment.” He gestured to Starsky. “Unfortunately, his former slave was more seriously wounded and has to remain in the hospital, at least overnight.” 

Chris picked up the thought. “Ordinarily, I would have stayed here to be near Davey but I was too concerned about Uncle Augustino. I know Davey’s in good hands and I’ll come back and see him tomorrow.”

“Exactly!” said Holsten. “And you’ll let it be known, Don Cominetti, that Carter chased the assassin out the east gate. You’re reasonably sure he won’t be back.”

“If Melissa’s behind it,” Cominetti finished the thought, “she’ll think she’s gotten away with it.”

“Besides,” Pickering added, “she has to get all her cohorts out of town tomorrow, then be ready for the production company’s arrival and filming on Monday. She won’t have time to worry about something as inconsequential as a failed assassination attempt.” He tried grinning at everyone but got few return smiles. 

“You bloody well hope,” Starsky muttered.

“We all bloody well hope, David.” Don Cominetti patted his arm.

Starsky knew he was tiring rapidly but thought he was hiding it. When Dr. Dominic spoke up, he realized the physician had noticed. 

“David needs his rest, gentlemen. We can all come back after these two have had a good night’s sleep.” 

“I hope the Cobra’s okay, sir,” Starsky told the departing Cominetti.

“I’m sure it is.” The Don smiled widely. “You gave it a drive, son, one I won’t ever forget!”

Everyone filed out of the room. Dr. Dom paused at the door. “Take care of each other,” he said for the second time, just before he closed the door.

Starsky rolled onto his left side, grimacing when his stitches complained. He rubbed his hand gently up and down Hutch’s arm. “Come back to me, babe. I’m lonely.”

*******

“Starsk?”

Starsky woke suddenly and yelped when he tried to sit up. ‘Oh, shit! That hurt.’ He turned his head and looked into the concerned eyes of his best friend. 

“How long was I out?” 

Starsky glanced at the clock on the wall over Hutch’s shoulder. “About twenty hours. You were shot yesterday.”

“Who?”

“No idea yet. Holsten, the Don, and everybody else are workin’ on it.”

“You were hit, too. Your whole right side was covered with blood when you drove in.”

“Yeah. Bastard tried to take out the left front tire, make us roll on the turn. Missed. So he shot me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Starsky passed it off. “Just a flesh wound.” He grinned. “Always wanted to say that.”

Hutch was silent for a while and Starsky could see the wheels turning in his partner’s mind. He waited.

“I’m betting Holsten’s played his ace.” 

“You win. I’m really surprised you managed to sleep through it all. At one time, there were nine people in this room.” He smiled at the memory. “Dr. Yamato nearly had a fit.”

“I’ll bet. Had to be against all hospital rules.”

“Most of ‘em anyway.”

“What now, partner?” 

“We get well,” Starsky stated, matter-of-factly. “We eat whatever crummy food they bring us, get checked out by the doctors that come by, pass the time with Joe or Bert, whichever one’s outside in the hall keeping the Black Hats away, and wait for Holsten and the Don to spring us.”

“And when will that be?”

“Probably not ‘til tomorrow morning, Hutch.” Starsky looked deeply into the clouded eyes. “You lost a lot of blood, babe. They were talking about a transfusion right after we got here but, with Chris’ problem on everyone’s mind, Dr. Dom nixed that idea. He said you’d make your own blood soon enough, to leave you alone.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Thank Dr. Dom when he shows up.”

“We’ll check ourselves out if we have to Starsk. The bust goes down at ten.”

“I know. And don’t worry, we’ll be there.” He reached over and took Hutch’s hand. “You should have seen Chris though. He put on your bloody clothes, Dr. Dom put a bandage on his head… It gave me chills, I’ll tell you that. You lying there, unconscious, him standing at the foot of your bed…”

“Sorry I missed it.” Hutch suddenly sounded tired. 

Starsky realized his partner needed rest. “Go back to sleep, Hutch. I’m right here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Hutch closed his eyes. “I’ll take that as a promise… Davey.”

“That’s exactly what it was. Master.”

*******

Don Cominetti must have had some sort of pull with the hospital kitchens because the omelets Starsky and Hutch were served for breakfast, and the beef stew they got for lunch, were delicious. They offered to share with Joe, who had guard duty again that morning, but he insisted he’d gotten the same meals.

They were both sitting up when the lunch trays were taken away. Hutch’s color was much better and determination was back in his icy blue eyes. “Whoever was up there on the access road waited until you’d taken your practice laps before making the attempt.”

“That’s what I figure. Going for the tire sooner might not have caused a wreck.”

“I heard you down shift for the hairpin.” Hutch was obviously replaying the sound in his head. “Just like you had each lap before. But then there was the awful sound of a skid that just kept going on forever. Freddy ran to get the Stutz fired up so we could come and find out what happened. We never heard any shots though. Silencer?”

“Had to be. I saw the muzzle flash just before the asphalt exploded, and another right before I got hit. But there was no sound other than the engine.”

“If they’d hit the tire, the car would’ve rolled.” 

“Probably.”

“And without helmets, even with the roll bars, you could’ve been killed.”

“But we weren’t, Hutch. The shooter missed the tire and I managed to keep the car upright.”

“I’m sorry I ever called you a reckless driver, Starsk.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, buddy. I _was_ reckless that day. I deserved the trick you pulled afterward.” He smiled softly. “But I think I did good yesterday.”

“I know you did, Starsk.”

*******

Dr. Yamato was pleased with Hutch’s progress and promised to have his release papers ready first thing in the morning. Before leaving the room, he checked Starsky’s wounds, too, and pronounced them healing beautifully. He’d be able to leave when Hutch did.

Holsten and Pickering showed up, mid afternoon, gratified to see both patients doing well. They pulled chairs up on the window side of Hutch’s bed so that everybody could look at each other without feeling as if they were at a tennis match.

“News, gentlemen,” Holsten began, a definitely self-satisfied look on his face. “We’ve determined that Melissa, under the name, Melody Commison, has a membership in a gun club here in the city. Spends at least two days a month practicing her marksmanship.” 

“I’m really glad she needs more practice,” Starsky said, dead-pan. 

Hutch playfully swatted his arm. 

“She’s certified as expert,” Pickering continued, “with every weapon the club owns including the military’s newest sniper rifle.”

“Certified maybe but not very expert,” Hutch commented. “Thank God.”

“What about the rest of tomorrow’s operation?” Starsky asked. “What’s happening?”

“Maria’s servant corps has verified all flight plans and destinations for Melissa’s clutch,” said Holsten. “Our agents in Europe, the FBI in U.S. cities, and the RCMP here, will arrest every member of her group at the same time tomorrow morning, ten a.m., local.”

“And they’ll have enough officers with them to round up all her associates’ contacts in each city,” Pickering told them. “As of tomorrow, the illegal portions of Cominetti Enterprises should be, if not ended, at least in shambles.”

“Does the Don know?” Hutch asked. 

“He helped with the planning,” said Holsten. “We’ve been on the phone most of the morning.”

“I think he’s feeling younger every day,” Pickering added, “since ‘Chris’ came home.”

“What about the rest of the family? And the staff?” Starsky wanted to know.

“Our agents hidden on the road --”

“You’re already in position?” Hutch blurted out.

“Of course, Detective Hutchinson.” Holsten sounded almost offended. “We are not about to let an operation like this fail because of a lack of preparation or information.”

Starsky patted his partner’s arm. “Relax, Hutch. We’ve only been involved for a few weeks. Holsten’s been after these clowns for years!”

“I know.” Hutch nodded to Holsten. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Holsten replied, agreeably. “Now, according to reports, the rest of the family already is, or will be shortly, on its way into the city. And most of the staff has left for their village. The compound will be almost deserted very soon.”

Starsky sent a questioning look at his partner before he turned to Holsten. “We’ve never asked but do you need any kind of warrant to take these people down tomorrow?”

Holsten gestured to Pickering who sat forward eagerly. “Yesterday, I showed a copy of one of Melissa’s kiddie porn tapes to our most conservative judge. If anyone was going to deny us the right to go in, it would have been Tenley.” 

The RCMP agent shared a triumphant look with Holsten and turned back to Starsky and Hutch. “The judge was so incensed when he found out that Melissa’s using her own nieces and nephews, he signed a blanket warrant not only to go onto the property but to arrest every member of the crew. Then we’re to search for and seize every item of equipment including cameras, lighting, film, photographs, publications, tapes, furnishings, props, clothing, everything!”

“That should do it,” Hutch said.

“And with the task force taking all Melissa’s associates into custody at the same time and shutting down those operations,” Holsten went on, “she should be out of business by noon tomorrow.”

“And ain’t that a happy thought?” Starsky couldn’t help but smile.

The door was pushed open and Don Cominetti stuck his head in. “May we come in?”

Holsten and Pickering got to their feet. “Perfect timing, Don Augustino.” 

Chris, head still bandaged, and Dr. Dominic followed the Don into the room. 

“We’ll pick you two up at eight in the morning, gentlemen,” Holsten told Starsky and Hutch. “Please make sure your release papers are signed and in order before that. We don’t want any delays.”

“Don’t worry, Holsten,” said Hutch, with determination, “nothing’s going to keep my partner and me away from this bust.”

“Good. See you in the morning then.” Holsten and Pickering left. 

Don Cominetti and Chris sat in the vacated chairs. Dr. Dom, unable to curb his physician’s worries, looked carefully at Starsky, then Hutch, before taking a breath and nodding. Starsky hid a smirk because he could tell the old doctor wanted to take each of their pulses, smothering the urge only with difficulty.

Seeing that all beds and chairs were occupied, Dr. Dom opened the door. “Bert, could you find another chair and join us please?” He picked up Carter’s chair and brought it in. 

Within moments, Bert appeared with another. He sat near the door, listening attentively. Dominic placed his chair next to Starsky’s bed and sat down.

“What kind of reception did you get from Melissa, Chris?” Hutch asked his brother, when everyone was settled.

“Oh, she was solicitous as hell. If I hadn’t been sure she was behind the attempt, I’d have believed her line of bullshit.”

“According to Holsten,” Starsky told the new arrivals, “she was the shooter.”

The three previously uninformed listeners glanced at each other, stunned expressions on their faces. The Don was the first to recover enough to speak. “She pulled the trigger herself?” 

“When you think about it, Uncle,” Chris said, “she’d never let anyone else have the pleasure.” He looked sadly at Hutch. “She’s always been a controlling bitch.”

“I’m willing to bet,” Hutch looked at the Don, “she had someone else up there with her, driving the Jeep. Probably one of her lesser minions. She stayed on the hill when he took off for the east gate. It would have been easy to hide from Carter and Freddy when they came along.”

“She’d just have to wait up there.” Starsky continued the thought. “During the chaos in the pits, she could come down and join the spectators making their way back up to the house.”

Dr. Dom nodded. “Nobody would realize she hadn’t been there all the time.”

“Well,” the Don added, “we all knew she was a scheming witch.”

*******

The next morning, Hutch put on the clothes Chris had been wearing when he showed up at the hospital on Saturday. They fit him perfectly and Starsky stared. It was just too unsettling. 

“Snap out of it, Starsk.” Hutch nudged him lightly. “I’m the real one.”

Starsky fought down the shivers. “I never doubted.” His side hurt some but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with. The Don had brought him a fresh set of his new clothes the day before. No bloody rags for him today.

They signed themselves out and were down in the lobby waiting when Holsten and Pickering showed up. 

Starsky and Hutch climbed in the back seat of the tan Crown Victoria. Amused, Starsky wondered if all law enforcement agencies bought these cars. He settled himself in the corner of the seat. “It’s a long ride, Hutch. Why don’t you stretch out as much as possible? Put your head in my lap. You’d be more comfortable, wouldn’t you?” 

“Don’t let me fall asleep, Starsk.” Hutch did as suggested. 

The sun was blazingly brilliant, a good sign Starsky and the two agents agreed, for the day’s adventures. At the gates, Holsten and Pickering got out of the car to confer with the agents clustered there. 

“Wake up, partner.” Starsky twined his fingers in Hutch’s hair. 

Hutch opened his eyes. “Thought you weren’t going to let me fall asleep, Starsk.”

“You needed the extra zzzzzs. All that blood to make, you know.”

“Yeah, well…” Hutch sat up and rubbed his face. 

Holsten and Pickering came back and climbed in the car, grins on their faces. “We’re ready, Detectives,” reported the senior agent, starting the engine. “The production crew arrived ten minutes ago. The bus carrying the children is still about fifteen minutes away. When it gets here, these agents,” he gestured out the windshield toward the group of officers, “will stop it. They’ll make sure the kids are safe.”

Half a dozen vehicles were queuing up behind them. Holsten put their car in gear and started toward the house. “We’ll pull around to the exterior of the West Garage, where we’re told the crew’s RVs will be parked. Everyone still outside will be arrested before we go in.”

“At least some of these guys may be armed, Holsten,” Hutch reminded the agent.

“The two guarding the hallway doors were,” Starsky pointed out.

“We know,” said Holsten. “We’ll be ready if they decide to make a fight of it.” He glanced in the rear view mirror as Pickering handed holstered weapons across the seat back to them. “We haven’t forgotten you two.”

Starsky and Hutch each took a weapon and checked it. They were Colt 45s. Starsky unholstered the big gun and spun the cylinder, grinning at his partner. “Wild West time, Hutch.”

“The RCMP wants those back, detectives,” Pickering informed them, mock-sternly. “Unfired, if possible.”

“We’ll do our best, Marc,” said Hutch. In the back seat of a moving car, it wasn’t easy to get the long holsters buckled around their waists and tied down to their thighs, but Starsky and Hutch both managed it with plenty of time to spare. Starsky had to wonder though, where they’d found his left-handed holster with so little warning.

Holsten pulled the Crown Vic up behind the trailing RV, blocking its escape. The following vehicles fanned out and formed a half-circle around all the others. Agents piled out of the cars and began rounding up the startled crew members who weren’t inside the garage yet. 

Starsky, Hutch, Holsten and Pickering ran to the sides of the warehouse-size open doors. At Holsten’s signal they all darted inside. More agents poured in after them.

Melissa was standing in the middle of the cavernous space, apparently well into a tirade. “… never listen! What the fuck is the matter with you?” she screamed at the cowed man in front of her. “I specifically told you I wanted to shoot the playpen scene first!”

Starsky took a moment to look around. Unmistakable Hollywood-type equipment abounded. There were cameras, a dolly, arc lights, C-stands for holding scrims and reflectors, audio recording machines, what looked like miles of cables and stacks of what were known as apple boxes and half-apples. Memories of the time he and Hutch had spent on a film sound stage came flooding back to him, with all the strange words and appellations. 

The furnishings were unlike any legitimate film set he’d ever seen though; there were cribs and playpens, a jungle gym and slides. There was even a teeter-totter. Cartons of stuffed animals were everywhere. Wardrobe racks held children’s costumes, everything from cowboy and cowgirl outfits to Superman’s tights and cape. There were princess dresses and cheerleader ensembles. With pompoms. 

Hutch’s gentle hand on his arm brought him out of his imagined horror, into the present horror. “This ends today, partner.”

“Melissa!” 

Starsky and Hutch turned to find Marvin Delgetti coming into the garage through a side door. “We’ve got company!”

Melissa spun and froze. The image of ‘Chris and his former slave’ standing inside the exterior doors of the garage seemed to unhinge her. “ _You_!” she shrieked. “The minute I heard you were coming home, I knew you’d cause trouble.” She ran straight toward Hutch, her fingers curled into claws.

Marv grabbed her arm when she pelted past him and dragged her away from her target, pulling her toward the doors to the interior of the house. “Forget him, Mel! We gotta get outta here!”

The hallway doors burst open, framing the imposing figure of Augustino Cominetti. A second ‘Chris’ was at his side. Agent Constantine brought up the rear.

Melissa and Marvin stopped in their tracks. Melissa seemed to dissolve, then solidify into a demonic thing. After only a moment’s hesitation, she flew at her cousin, unmistakably intent on bodily harm. 

Chris half-turned on his left foot, kicking out with his right, stiff-kneed, in a move that looked to Starsky as if it was straight out of a ‘Kung Fu’ episode. The blow impacted Melissa’s solar plexus with a force great enough to send her flying backward a few feet. The breath whoomphed out of her and she sprawled in a heap of derailed fury, unconscious before she hit the floor. 

Without a second glance at his fallen mistress, Marv turned and ran toward the exterior doors. 

Starsky knocked over a C-stand and kicked it toward the running figure. The heavy metal upright, triple feet and angled attachment caught Marv’s legs and entangled them. Starsky heard at least one bone snap when Cousin Marv fell, skidding along with the stand.

“Well done, partner.” Hutch threw an arm around his shoulders. 

Starsky looked around the space. Agents were handcuffing crew members. Don Cominetti and Chris stood over the prone Melissa. Marv cried. 

Starsky grinned at his partner. “And not a shot fired.”

*******

Starsky, Hutch, Don Cominetti, Chris, Dr. Dom, Holsten, Constantine and Pickering sat in the small dining room later. Lunch had been prepared by the kitchen help who had remained and everyone had evidently eaten his fill. There were few crumbs left on the trays and plates.

Hutch handed Holsten the velvet pouch and the two holstered Colt 45s. “Your property, as promised.”

Holsten handed the guns to Pickering. “These belong to the RCMP and I know they’re happy to have them back.” He hefted the sack. “As for these, I’m almost tempted to let you keep them.” He looked at Starsky with an expression that said he knew exactly how much Starsky had enjoyed wearing them. “I’m told you looked quite spectacular, Detective.”

“Can’t trust everything you hear, Agent Holsten,” Starsky replied, with as much dignity as he could muster.

Everyone laughed, including Starsky. 

“Tell you what…” Holsten opened the pouch. “Interpol will keep this.” He took the diamond out and slipped it in his pocket. The gold chains were put back in the bag which he handed to Starsky. “The requisition will show the other items, including three rings, were unsalvageable.”

Starsky was speechless.

“We’ll use them wisely, Agent Holsten,” said Hutch, his hand on Starsky’s thigh under the table.

Starsky slid the velvet into his pocket. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don Cominetti,” Holsten turned his attention to the old man. “Interpol defers to the RCMP from here on, with regard to Cominetti Enterprises.” He gestured for Pickering to continue.

“It would be a disaster for this country, Don Augustino,” Pickering began, “if your family’s legitimate businesses were to fail. Therefore…” he looked around at the intent faces surrounding him, “it has been decided, pending further investigation, that you should continue in your present position as head of those operations.” He looked seriously at Chris. “It is our hope that your nephew will see fit to be your second in command and make sure that none of Melissa’s leftovers take up her illegal activities again.”

The stunned look on Augustino’s face was classic. 

Chris put a hand on his uncle’s arm and smiled at Pickering. “We accept.”

Starsky couldn’t help but feel utterly content. 

*******

Later, outside the garage, a moving van was being loaded with all the seized equipment from the ‘studio.’ The last of the RVs was driven away, trailed by the law enforcement vehicles. Only Holsten’s Crown Vic was left. 

“We need to get home, Hutch,” Starsky said. “Dobey’ll be worried.”

“We’ve only been gone a week, Starsk, but it feels more like a year.” 

Starsky thought his partner sounded really tired. He wanted to get him someplace quiet where they could both rest. He just didn’t quite know where that would be at the moment. How were they even going to get back to Toronto?

“I must admit,” Agent Holsten began, walking up to them, “when this plan was brought to me, I didn’t think it had a chance of succeeding. But you two made it happen. In case you ever want to do something else with your careers, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He gave them each a card. “I’ll look forward to your call.” He got in his car and drove toward the highway, twenty minutes away.

“Hutch… Did he just offer us jobs?” 

“Sounded like it to me,” said Don Cominetti, coming up behind them. “You should consider it,” he added. “Now…” The man who appeared a decade younger than he had the week before, put an arm around each of their shoulders and turned them back toward the interior of the garage. “You both need to rest before dinner. I have one more surprise for all of you,” he said, mysteriously, as Chris joined them.

“Uncle tells me you’ve been using my old room,” said Chris. “Which, of course, was necessary. So you’ll stay there again tonight, and for as long as you can hang around.” 

Don Cominetti nodded enthusiastically. “Chris will be staying in my suite so you have no need to hurry away.”

“That’s kind of you, Don Augustino,” Hutch replied. “We’ll certainly take you up on the offer tonight, but --”

“We gotta leave tomorrow,” Starsky finished. “Captain Dobey’ll be wondering what happened to us.”


	13. LOOSE ENDS

“We need to make a stop in Duluth, Hutch.” Starsky was spooned tightly against his partner. They had come back to Chris’ room and fallen onto the bed, fully clothed. 

Hutch murmured, probably on the edge of sleep. A moment later though, he was fully awake. “What did you just say?”

Starsky turned over, careful not to tear his sutures, and put his arms around Hutch’s waist, nestling his head into his lover’s throat. “We should tell your parents about us.”

Hutch drew back enough to look at him. “Are you sure, Starsk?”

“Am I sure of what? That I want your parents to know I love you? That I’ve always loved you? That I’ll love you forever? That --”

“Okay, okay.” Hutch drew Starsky close again. “You’re right. We’ll probably never have a better opportunity. And Dobey can do without us for one more day.”

“Maybe two. We should take Chris with us.”

“ _What_?” 

Starsky snuggled closer. “If you’re gonna hit ‘em with one bombshell, babe, why not hit ‘em with two?” He leaned back and smiled into uncertain eyes. “Wouldn’t they sort of cancel each other out?”

“You don’t know my parents very well, Starsk.” But Starsky could feel him thinking. And thinking. “Maybe we should. That is, if Chris is willing to meet his father.”

*******

“Of course I’ll come!” Chris said, when Hutch broached the subject at dinner. “I’ve always wondered who my father was. I think Mother loved him very much, although she knew he loved his wife more.” He sobered quickly though. “What do you think his reaction will be? Not only to having an illegitimate son but a near twin to the one he already knew about?”

“Only one way to find out,” Starsky said, making Hutch and Chris laugh.

“Chris, Ken, Dave,” the Don said, after the desert dishes had been cleared away, “there’s someone here I think you’ll all want to see.”

He motioned to Dr. Dom, who got up and went to the door. When he opened it, George walked into the room, and into dead silence.

Starsky could tell the old gnome didn’t know what kind of reception he’d get, but he held his head as high as possible and appeared ready for anything. At that moment, Starsky admired their teacher as much as he had ever admired anyone.

Chris jumped up and ran, threw his arms around George and physically picked him up. He turned in a circle, his lover’s legs flying out behind him. 

George chucked. “Glad to see you, too, Chris.”

Chris set him down, kept his hands on the stooped shoulders, stepped back and looked at him. 

Hutch put a hand on Starsky’s arm and Starsky covered it with his own. He didn’t have to look at Hutch to know there were tears in his eyes. They matched the ones in his own.

Chris broke the silence at last. “You know about my condition, right, George?”

“Yes. And I’ve read everything I could get my hands on since I found out.” He smiled, undoubtedly attempting to allay his lover’s worried concern. “I don’t have any cuts, sores or abrasions on my body, Chris. Inside or out. We’ll be careful but… please don’t tell me you’re not going to kiss me because of that.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” Chris’s lips captured George’s mouth. He straightened up, his arms around the gnome’s waist, lifting him off his feet again. George wrapped his arms around the taller man’s neck and his legs around Chris’ waist. 

Starsky realized that’s probably close to what he and Hutch had looked like. Hutch gently squeezed his arm, letting him know he was enjoying the memory as well.

*******

“You can still change your mind, George,” Starsky told their trainer, walking toward the United gate. Hutch and Chris were ahead, handing their boarding passes to the attendant. “I’m told first class is never full on these flights.”

“No, Dave, Chris needs to meet his father without me hanging around. At least this first time.” He lifted his bony shoulders. “If there’s a next time, I’ll consider going with him.”

“He’ll miss you.”

“Sure he will. That’ll make it all the better when he gets back.”

“You are a wise man, George.”

“And you were a good student, David. I’m really glad everything worked out for you and Ken. You love each other so much.”

“Yeah…” Starsky still wondered how it all happened. “We do, don’t we?”

They reached the gate. Chris hugged George for a long time while Starsky and Hutch stood patiently and waited. Finally the gate attendant cleared her throat and George broke away. 

“Let me know when you’ll be coming home and Milton and I will be here.” George stepped back, putting space between himself and Chris. 

“I will,” Chris replied, choked. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Christopher Cominetti. Now go on! The pilot’s not going to wait forever.” He deliberately turned and limped away.

*******

“What did you tell them?” Starsky asked, when the cab pulled up the long drive to the front of the Hutchinson mansion. Hutch’s parents were standing on the porch.

“Not much. Only that you and I were bringing a friend to meet them.” 

“Hmmmmmmmm,” Starsky hmmmed. “That was uninformative.”

“As intended.” Hutch had a gleam in his eye.

Starsky knew these people had put his partner through enough hell in his life; they deserved a little payback.

Next to Starsky, Chris was chuckling, a gleam identical to his brother’s in his own eyes.

When the cab stopped, Starsky climbed out first, his stitches complaining only a little, and held the door for Hutch. He still had a bandage around his head and his face was paler than usual. Otherwise, he was perfection, in Starsky’s humble opinion. 

Starsky looked toward the house and saw concerned expressions on Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson’s faces. He realized they hadn’t seen anything yet.

Hutch turned back to the cab and Chris got out. 

The looks on Hutch’s folks’ faces flitted through confusion, concern, fear, anger and incomprehension, before their breeding kicked in and they settled on stoic. 

None of the four principals moved a muscle while Starsky tried to help the cabbie unload the luggage from the trunk. Lifting the damn suitcases hurt too much though, so he finally let the driver line them up by himself. Starsky paid the man, who got back in his taxi and drove away.

Leaving the bags on the walkway to be retrieved later, Starsky linked his right arm through Hutch’s left elbow, his left arm through Chris’ right, and started them all walking toward the statues awaiting them.

Raising an invisible microphone to his mouth, Starsky used all his high school drama training to do his best Ralph Edwards impersonation. “Mr. and Mrs. Richard Hutchinson… of Duluth, Minnesota… This… Is Your Life.”

*******

Some pain and lost pride  
To protect the one that’s loved  
No great sacrifice

 

END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have altered the time line of when a suite of drugs became available to HIV-positive patients by more than ten years. Getting toward the end of my story, I realized I needed Chris to be a character, not merely a reference. Which meant I had to make the drugs available in 1981. My sincere apologies to all those who suffered through that terrible decade and more, and to the families of those who didn’t make it.


End file.
